Broken Reflections
by Lady Elena Dawson
Summary: Based loosely on Victor Hugo's "Les Miserables," what if life wasn't so perfect for the newly reborn Rose Dawson after the Titanic disaster? It's 1929 New York. Jack lives, but is crushed by his loss many years ago. Cal's poking around, searching for the woman he thought had been forgotten. And as for Rose, she's bound with a deathly secret...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Titanic _(1997).**

_**Broken Reflections**_

_**By Lady Elena Dawson**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prologue<strong>_

"Please, sir, spare a penny," the woman begged. Her hair was a tangled, large mess of a stunningly red color; once-beautiful curls that were sloppily cut. Her eyes were puffy from eternal tears, and her clothing torn from little care and endless use. She pushed her copper locks out of her eyes and pleaded using their charming colors: green, with a touch of blue, surrounded by lush lashes.

The man, clearly not buying the woman's grovels, shook his head firmly, lips tight from embarrassment. How could he let this beggar woman catch him on the street like that? After all, he'd been living in New York his whole life, and was experienced in avoiding the poor. Maybe it was because the thought of his sick wife that made him not notice...

"I'm sorry, miss, but I cannot give out any money," he said, and pushed the woman aside. She caught his arm, a little bit roughly, but at least she didn't tug at his shirt's sleeve desperately. "My daughter is ill, sir, please! I have nothing but the clothes on my back to sell for her! Please, sir, please! I cannot lose her!" The woman was now on her knees; her grasp on the man loosened, and she knelt down her head in a prayer.

The man sighed. By his suit and tie, he was clearly an entrepreneur with money to spare. Luckily for her, he pitied the poor and donated to local charities often. Taking the woman by the arm, he gently lifted her off the ground. She was sobbing, her head down, hands covering her eyes. Smiling, he said, "I'll put you out of your misery, miss, if you would look me in the eye."

The sound of the woman's sobs faded, and she rubbed her eyes before slowly looking up. What she saw made her heart race, and she tried to prevent a smile of triumph from spreading on her cracked lips. The man was rummaging in his coat pocket, pulling out a few bills, and handing them to her. "For your daughter," he said, and he shoved them in her hands before she could protest.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed. "You are merciful!" To show respect, she bobbed her head a little and curtsied.

As the man was leaving, a young woman approached toward the beggar, perplexed. She had dirty-blonde hair and bright, green eyes that were hard to read. Her clothes were also tattered, and her hygiene also not as good. Her hair came down in cleaner curls, though, and when she saw the wad of cash in the woman's hand, she shook her head and stormed off.

The woman just smiled triumphantly. "Oh, she'll be fine," she said to herself while smiling at the cash. Stuffing it in her mangy coat pocket, she made her way down the crowded streets of New York, in the same direction as the girl had went.

This woman's name was Rose Dawson.


	2. Introduction

_**Chapter 1: Introduction**_

Rose walked into her small apartment room a few minutes after receiving the businessman's money, holding a crumbled newspaper in her hand. The first thing she did when she entered the small, two-room apartment was lock the money away in an old, rusty case and also set the newspaper aside on the kitchen counter. The second thing she did was put a reassuring hand on the dirty-blonde girl's shoulder, the one who'd stomped away from her after seeing the wad of bills in her hand.

The girl, in her teens - sixteen-years-old, to be exact - was mumbling nonsense under her breath while also hunched over on a broken couch, arms crossed at her chest. Her pink bottom lip slipped out under her top lip, pouting. Rose sat on the edge of the sofa where the arm rested, soothingly rubbing her hand on the struggling teen's shoulder for a few minutes before removing it and reaching into her coat. She pulled out a book, torn at the edges, but still in good condition.

With a motherly smile, she handed it to the pouting girl. "I know how much you've been wanting to read this," Rose said, holding the book near, but not directly, in front of her nose. "So, I've saved up some money to finally buy you a copy." And that's when she finally stopped letting the book hover in front of the impossible growing girl and instead firmly placed it in her hands. "Enjoy," Rose whispered while kissing the teen's head. Then, she left the room, leaving the young woman alone with her thoughts.

Gulping back her retorts, she took a look at the title of the book in her hands. _Les Misérables _by Victor Hugo. Underneath that large novel was another one, something she was surprised to see. _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen.

_Now why would she...?_

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. _Just because I'm a teenager,_ she thought, _doesn't mean I have to be cruel with all my retorts._ She cleared her throat, and opened her mouth again, this time a stream of words prancing out of her throat. "Mother, why did you get me this book?"

Rose appeared from the battered doorway of the adjacent room, her attention focused on the newspaper in her hands. "Hm?" she said, oblivious to what her daughter had said.

Before her daughter had interrupted her thoughts, Rose had been deep in reverie over what she read in the morning paper. Though it was practically illegal for the Dawson household to spend any money for anything but the necessities, the name printed in the headline caught her attention on the way back home that afternoon.

CALEDON HOCKLEY OF PITTSBURGH HELPS THE PENNILESS IN NEW YORK STREETS. Her mood immediately soured as she turned the page to read the main story. Inside it talked about the wealthy steel tycoon's past, and the many programs he set up to help the poor. She continued to read, disgusted.

"Mr. Hockley is best known for his previous encounter 16 years ago on the tragic _Titanic_. 'My ex-fiancée liked the help the lower class with their problems. In fact, she made a few friends in steerage, one who was an amazing artist,' he said.

"When the _Titanic_ sank, Mr. Hockley was shocked. His fiancée at that time, the beautiful debutante Rose DeWitt Bukater, 17, was lost in the sinking –"

Rose, gritting her teeth, closed her sore eyes to relieve her throbbing forehead. Her fist clenched and she crumbled the paper, not wanting to believe her eyes. _How dare he mention him,_ she thought, feeling sick.

She had then dared herself to read ahead further, and was called out of the kitchen by her daughter.

"Why did you get me this?" the young girl repeated, holding up the Jane Austen novel for effect. Rose looked up at what her daughter was holding and said, "Well, I thought you needed something more lighthearted, and not so dark." She crumbled the paper for good behind her back, planning to burn it later.

"Oh," was all the girl was able to say. She put the book back on her lap and stared straight ahead, deep in thought. Rose sat next to here, and she didn't even know until she felt a pair of arms wrap around her.

"Josephine, you know I love you. That's why I care about what you read," Rose whispered, holding her close. Josephine meant the world to her, and she only wished her frustrated daughter would understand that.

Josephine squirmed out of her mother's grasp, slightly offended. "Do you think I'm reading this to get depressed? No, I'm reading it because I understand what these characters are going through." Sighing, she put the books on the chipped and broken coffee table (which almost collapsed under the books' weight) and took her mother's shoulders. "Poverty. I want to read this because I understand poverty."

Josephine got up from the dusty couch, picked up one book, and left into the other room, closing the door behind her, which creaked on its hinges. Rose closed her eyes to recollect herself, and noticed her daughter had left _Pride and Prejudice_ on the table. Taking it in her hands, she felt the smooth binding and remembered the story. It was something she used to read in her bed a multiple of times each night, longing for a love so passionate and caring. Oh, how life had gone so wrong! How she dearly wished she was Elizabeth, who at least had a lover who was alive.

Putting her face in her hands, she softly cried. And with those tears came the truth within them.

...

The next day, Josephine slipped out of the house with her book and settled under her favorite tree at central park. Her heart filled with hope that Galen, the handsome wealth who paid her a visit every day, would visit her that evening. Every time she stepped foot in the park, she always wondered if he would stop coming to see her. That's why she questioned it, and hoped it would never halt.

Entranced by the story, she noticed how poverty had caused Fantine – the hard-working mother who lost her job for having an illegitimate child - to go a little crazy in the head. She sold her hair, her teeth,_ everything_ to pay for her daughter Cosette, who was being watched by the greedy Thénardiers. Little did she know that the letters coming in from them were only ways to get more money. They lied that her daughter was ill and dying, and that she needed a winter's coat or she'd freeze to death. Josephine let out a strangled sob when the character said, almost psychotically, "My child is no longer cold. I have clothed her with my hair."

She was so transfixed into the story, that she did not see the gentleman in front of her, clearing his throat to get her attention. "Oh!" she exclaimed, putting her book down and blushing a deep shade of red. "I did not see you there."

Galen smiled at her and took a seat next to her. "I see you've been taking care of your hair. It's nice," he said. To Josephine, it wasn't an insult, but a well-needed compliment. "T-thank you!" With pride, she continued by saying, "And this is at its natural, not dyed or styled like those other girls do." For emphasis, she flipped her blonde curls away from her face, and batted her eyelashes a little.

It was certain she had a tiny crush on this man. Of course, she knew she was not the right girl for him. Galen took a curl in his hands and studied it, almost carefully. Josephine blushed a deeper red than before, and it looked as though she had powdered her cheeks with too much rouge.

Galen let go, turning red himself. "Oh, I'm sorry!" he apologized. "Did I offend you?"

"No!" Josephine said, a little too forced and fast. "I mean, no, you most certainly did not." She wished she could take his hand and jam another lock into it, but he had already let go.

After a moment of awkward silence, Galen continued. "So, Josephine," he said, his blue eyes sparkling from the sun. "How is your mother?"

"Oh," she replied, a little upset that the question was not about her, but Rose. "She's doing fine. A little ill, I guess, but fine."

"You guess?"

Josephine gulped. How can she say this? She licked her dry, cracked lips. "Well, as you might as well know, she's been a little psychotic lately."

Galen cocked his head and looked utterly concerned. He knew how much Josephine cared for her mother. "What do you mean?"

Josephine couldn't look him in the eye as she prepared to tell the lie she was going to spill. "She was diagnosed with some increasing mental disorder. This jolly nice doctor took a look at her for free, and he said it's the poverty that's probably done it."

"Oh, my!" Galen pushed some loose strands of chestnut hair out of his face. "How awful!"

Sympathy washed over him for his good friend. He always cared about the poor, especially for children. When he met Josephine, it was a few months into the winter, and he witnessed her shivering as she tried to get an elderly woman on paper. He said he'd exchange her drawing for the wool coat he was wearing, and with chattering teeth she weakly agreed. Her eyes fascinated him; they were the deepest pools of emerald green he'd ever seen, with small specks of blue.

Josephine nodded, playing along. "It is truly terrible." She sighed for more effect, and made herself tear up.

"Here, take this," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a giant wallet. Josephine's eyes widened. "I insist. Take it as a gift from a good friend." Before she knew it, fifty dollars was in her calloused palms.

"Oh, Galen," she said, swallowing her guilt. "How can I ever repay you?"

"Just call it a gift that doesn't need to be repaid." Then he started getting up. She knew that was a signal that he was planning on leaving.

"Thank you so much, Galen!" She resisted the urge to jump up and put her arms around him. She wanted so much to say, "But this is not really for my mother," but bit her tongue – hard - to stop herself.

"No problem." He smiled weakly and walked away. Josephine had been the person he could talk to whenever he felt alone or scared, and she was always there to help with her smirk comments and soothing advice.

She barely noticed the sharp pain filling her mouth, as though her teeth chewed haphazardly into her gum. Oh, how guilty she felt! How much she wanted to run up to him, give the money back, and say, while crying, "I don't need your money!" and run back home, ashamed.

She knew, however, that wasn't going to happen when she tasted the blood in her mouth.


	3. The Dawsons

_**Chapter 2: The Dawsons**_

As you can see, the Dawson family was very poor. They were masters of deception, and professionals in the art of conning. They didn't just beg; they acted that they were far worse off than they actually were.

It's said by the city folk that Rose Dawson once had a lover who had died, leaving her with his child. That's all they knew about her, other than the fact that she was considered _once_ "extremely beautiful." Her ragged appearance now made it almost hard to believe. They just found her pretty, but never anything more.

As for Josephine, she was considered prettier than her mother by a larger sum. Some couldn't believe she was so poor off. But everybody agreed on one thing: at least she was hygienic. No one knows what was on Rose's mind half the time, but most agree that it's shocking she hasn't become deathly ill yet. She never looked like she took care of herself. Some people felt bad for Josephine because of this.

Rose once had curly, bright red hair with the most breathing-taking green-blue eyes. Josephine shared those eyes, but her hair was a dirty-blonde with natural strawberry highlights, and her facial features were a little different than her mother's. She always took care of her hair and nails, and they stood out against the rest of her body, for most of her entire form was only washed when necessary.

Now, let's continue our story by introducing a new _personnage_.

Josephine was walking down the New York streets one humid July day, entranced by her book, when she ran into a man by accident. She wasn't aware of her surroundings; all of her focus was on her large novel, which was making tears appear in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't-" Looking up, she first noticed his clothing. _Oh, great, _she thought. _Another one to trick. _Then she looked up into his face, which was full of concern and kindness in his dark blue eyes.

As for the man, he was cut mid-sentence by the young girl's own eyes. They reminded him of someone long ago; a sparkling, emerald green with hints of blue. He put a hand through his overgrown, dirty-blond hair, and then smoothed out his tuxedo, letting out a big breath. He thought his vision was going hazy.

"Excuse me, sir, are you all right?" Josephine asked, putting a hand on his arm when she saw his faint expression. The man did not seem to hear. _She looks so much like..._ He stopped himself. _She was dead. She had died years ago._

Shaking his head, his eyes cleared up and he looked at the girl, who looked alarmed. "Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," he said, watching the girl smile, her lips so familiar to him. His eyes then caught the large novel in her hands. "What are you reading there?"

"Oh!" Josephine exclaimed, looking a little embarrassed. She looked down at the cover, the child on it frowning back at her. She thrust the book forward, not looking him in the eye. _What must he think of me now,_ she thought, _reading French revolutionary ideas dotted with misery and poverty?_

He caught the title of the book and pushed it lightly back at her. "Never read it," he confessed, and Josephine smiled a bit. _Good,_ she thought. _Then he won't know my pain. _

Josephine noticed a portfolio in the man's hand, and innocently asked him, "What've you got there, mister?" However, she didn't grab it out of his hands, no matter how much her curiosity burned. It was her plan to seem nice and well-mannered.

The man, though, seemed to be expecting that. He just stood there, blinking at her, a memory pulled out his experienced brain…

_What's this thing you've been carrying around?_

When he realized she wasn't going to pull it out of his grip and rudely flip through it, he took it out from under his arm and showed her the drawings inside, blushing.

Josephine's eyes widened. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "These are very good."

Only one caught her eye. It was of a woman. She looked lost and scared, and a shiver went down Josephine's spine. This lady quivered a memory inside her brain, yet nothing came to her. Smiling slightly, she asked him, "Who is this?"

The man's eyes seemed to go blank and escape into a realm of deep thought. "She's," he finally said, but his voice seemed distant, as well, "someone I met a long time ago. She died a while back."

"Oh," Josephine said, handing the portfolio carefully back to him, "I'm so sorry."

"I am too," he whispered.

_What are you, an artist or something?_

"Are you an artist or something?"

The man was caught off guard. Did she really just say that? When he saw that she was waiting for an answer, he stammered, "Y-yes, I am. I work at the New York City Art Gallery downtown. You can come visit anytime."

Josephine frowned. "Does it cost to get in?"

The man smiled sympathetically at her. "No, it doesn't." He pitied the girl a little bit. She was clearly from the streets.

"I'll come visit sometime, then." She switched the book to her other arm and commented, "You know, I'm an artist, too." She smiled, and the only response the man could think of was to smile back. It looked like she was about to leave, but before she could, the man stopped her and asked, "What's your name?"

"Josephine." She noticed his face went slightly pale. "And what's yours?"

_Come, Josephine, in my flying machine and it's up she goes… up she goes…_

The man shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the haunting song. He cleared his throat, evidently embarrassed. "Jack Dawson."

_Balance yourself like a bird on a beam… In the air she goes, there she goes…_

They parted with these terms, both of them glazed over from shock and wonder.

_Up, up, a little bit higher… Oh, my! The moon is on fire…_

_Who was she?_ Jack thought as he walked home, the old song whispering in his head. _Who_ was _she?_ Her crystal eyes taunted his mind, poking at long ago wounds that had left a scar.

_Come, Josephine, in my flying machine…_

Josephine was thinking the same thing. _Who was he? _She then realized something else, and slapped her forehead. _Darn! I never got the man's money. _

_And it's up, all on, goodbye…_

She walked home with many questions in her head, ignoring the cash she could've got, wondering, wondering, wondering… _What's my connection to him?_

…

Jack returned home that afternoon feeling a small, anxious sweat building up in his head. The whole walk back to his apartment complex had made him feel so lightheaded and unaware, he had ran into five people, apologizing carelessly. Grabbing a glass from the kitchen cabinet, he filled it with cool water and drank thirstily.

He hoped that dehydration was the cause of the hallucinations in his mind, but they were still there, fresh and opaque. That laugh, which was so beautiful and rang out so clearly, ripped at his heart. Her perfect lips curved into a smile that made his own lips tingle. And her eyes, so very green and blue, made his eyes water from tears he had forbidden to shed.

He remembered the night almost seventeen years ago where he had taken her to a joyous fete so she could put her troubles aside. It wasn't until that moment that he realized just how amazing she was, and how much he loved her. Before he had put his feelings aside just as she was trying to do – and now that he thought about it, what a terrible ache that gave to his boyish heart – and waved it off as lust, not love.

After all, who believed in love at first sight?

With tremulous knees he plopped down on the couch, full of wonderment. Whenever memories flooded his mind with thoughts of _her_, he had always sat down on this very couch and stared up at the drawing on the mantel he had tried so hard to recreate of her.

Ever since he lost her, all the drawings he had made – because a simple face always ended up being her – consisted of her eyes looking away from his direction. Those gorgeous eyes covered in luscious eyelashes were left looking anywhere but directly at him. After all, she was lost… And sometimes Jack just had to accept the fact that no matter how hard he believed it was all a dream, she was really gone.

He continued to keep his blue eyes on his favorite masterpiece. Her hair was long and flowed down her shoulders, curling perfectly around her delicate face. In her soft, manicured hands was an impeccable rose. Her eyes were cast downward at the sharp-stemmed flower, strands of hair hiding her porcelain cheeks. She sat on long grass in what appeared to be a meadow, with small trees and a river trickling in the background. The sun lit up her features beautifully.

A tear escaped his crystal eyes. Then another, and another, until he was bawling into his hands. _Be a man_, he would always tell himself whenever her image happened to be in his mind. He had pushed the matter aside for too long.

He wanted her to be in his arms for just one more time and whisper in her ear as she giggled, "I love you, too." The thought haunted him: that she had confessed to him her love, but being in the situation they were in, he was certain he was going to die, and he was convinced that that was her way of saying goodbye forever.

If only he knew that he would open his eyes and live another day. Then he would've kissed her frigid fingers over and over again, teardrops freezing upon his cheeks, and reiterate those three words: I love you.

Slowly after Jack calmed down, his eyes began to droop and he fell into a sleepless slumber, the last time he ever saw her flashing in front of his eyes before he passed out cold.

…

_His ears twitched when he heard the whisper of her girlish giggles echoing across the grass. Immediately freezing, the only sound he could hear was that of his own breathing. He waited a few more seconds when his ears pricked up again; he heard the delightful sound of her laughs, swirling in the air around him._

_Pushing the long grass aside, he left the trees behind and found himself on the border of a large field. In awe he studied the flowers and vegetation that grew there, how the sun was setting in the distance with the peaks of mountains shining a palette of different hues splattered against the sky._

_Then he heard the laughter again, and with stealth and speed he jumped back behind the trees, stopping all movement, even his breathing. There was the sound of someone's legs brushing against the grass, and he took that as a sign to target his prey._

_The young girl screamed delightfully when he jumped out from behind the trees and wrapped his arms around her waist, spinning her around. Her red curls were the only thing he saw when he put her back on the ground and pulled her into a hug._

_She sighed, melting into his embrace. "I miss you," she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice. Just the sound of her talk made him shiver, for the last time he saw her she was hanging on to dear life in the middle of the ocean._

_His exhale was unnoticeable when he said, "I miss you, too." _

_The woman giggled again and pulled away from his arms. The breath caught in his throat when he saw her again, looking just like she did seventeen years ago. She wore a flowing white dress that matched her pale complexion. No gaudy, ostentatious ring bore her down on her left hand. She was purely herself._

"_Come on," she said, giving him her hand. A smile spread widely on her face. "Let's go!"_

_Without hesitance he wrapped his fingers around hers, and a laugh escaped his throat when she pulled him forcefully back through the forest, the gurgling noise of a river slowly building up sound._

Jack woke up in a sweat, dried tears dotting his cheeks. His breathing came out unevenly, and he felt as though the room was spinning. Trembling, he put his head in his hands and let the darkness sooth him.

_It was just a dream_, he told himself. Yet, the young woman in it felt so real, like she was materialized in front of him.

The clock struck midnight when Jack finally decided to push his thoughts of her away again, the sixth time that year. He locked those memories deep within his mind, hiding the key well enough so that it would be hard to find, but not impossible to unlock.

Only God knew how much he loved her; hopefully, before she had passed, she had known that too.


	4. Fear and Punishment

_**Chapter 3: Fear and Punishment**_

Earlier that same day while Josephine was at the park, Rose sat on the worn out couch with a scrapbook in her arms. Sighing heavily, she flipped the page and let her cold eyes scan the page. Baby pictures were lined up neatly in two rows; its light-colored eyes shone brightly and it had pink, healthy cheeks.

Rose hadn't always been so occupied with money. Sometimes, she felt bad for the harsh treatment that would make Josephine tremble in fear. Others, her rage completely took over, and in the end she didn't even remember what had happened.

A cramping pain shot through Rose, but she only flinched. Rubbing her leg, she continued to look over the pictures. In each one the baby was growing up, the clothes it wore shrinking on its consistently smaller frame.

A tear escaped Rose's hard eyes and dropped on the album. She shut it close with tremendous force, staring at the wall as the salt water welled up. Sniffling, her thoughts panicked and started to turn cold and dark.

With a fit of rage, she threw the scrapbook at the wall with a horrendous scream. This only made her feel worse, and so she crumbled on the couch and set her head back, sobbing heavily in her sleeve which she rested over her sore eyes.

Her leg still throbbed, but she only assumed it was because she had badly beaten it that morning. The pain was normal to Rose, who was on the brink of healthiness, so she thought it was because of her poor hygiene and constant walking. There was an ugly bruise that lined her hip, but that was expected for she had been knocked over on the streets the other day trying to push through a large, crowded sidewalk.

Her sobs stopped and were replaced by guilt. The images in the album, of her precious daughter, spun around in her mind. She pictured them all scattered across the floor, scratched and ripped to no repair.

Frantic, Rose got off the couch and ran to the wall, picking up the scrapbook with tender hands. Her hopeful face fell. "No," she whined, dragging out the word. The white binding was broken.

Biting her lip, she knew that Josephine would question the condition of the album, for when she was lonely she looked through it too. Feeling defeated, Rose took a couple dollars out of the rusty metal box, no matter how much of a grudge she held against it, and left the apartement in haste.

…

"Repair, repair, repair…" Rose mumbled as she walked down New York's busy streets. It was nearly three on the clock, so she had plenty of time before Josephine would be home. Pushing her dirty locks aside, she found a bookstore that was practiced in book repair, and hesitantly she stepped in.

There was the jingle of bells when she pushed the wooden door open. The smell of old paperbacks filled her nostrils, an odor which reminded Rose of the antiques her father used to collect. Compared to the Victorian elegance of the shelves, she felt horribly displaced.

"May I help you, ma'am?"

Rose jumped when she saw an employee appear out of the corridor. Her cheeks flushed when she saw his noise wrinkle, but she still had her pride. She showed him the broken scrapbook in his hands, her fingers gripping the sides tightly.

"The binding needs to be fixed on this scrapbook of mine," she said, trying to sound polite. After all, she _was _a master of deception; an actress was what she always wanted to be.

The employee took it and led her to a desk, where he inspected the damage and then scribbled something in a notebook. "That would be fifty cents," he said, glaring at Rose as though she had little to her name.

Grumbling, Rose pulled out a dollar from her coat pocket and grudgingly handed it to him. He quickly pocketed it and gave her her change. "I am very busy today, do you think you can come back in an hour?"

Rose sighed as though she didn't want to be parted by her precious object. "Yes, I can. Thank you."

…

With a dollar fifty in her pocket, Rose continued to wander the streets while window shopping. She stopped into an art store and bought Josephine a new set of drawing pencils, which took away most of her change. By the time she had the pack of pencils, two bars of soap, and a hairbrush, Rose had nothing to do but walk with the two pennies in her palm.

Rose's smile widened when she came upon a little art gallery. It reminded her of him, the sketches in the window mimicking his strokes. She was about to step in when she suddenly felt a cold sweat, and decided against it. Ever since she lost him, art had always made her feel weak, as though every drawing and painting was his.

An hour passed and Rose returned to the fancy bookstore. She smiled and thanked the employee generously, tucking the album under her arm.

She jogged at a constant pace back to the apartment, excited to give Josephine the new pencil set. However, the first thing she did when she entered her home was put the scrapbook away safely, under a floorboard in the bedroom closet.

…

Josephine got home that day, still contemplating. Her mother was counting cash on the broken-down table and chairs in one of the corner of the room; she knew how strict Rose was about money. A can of cold beans sat on the hazardous stove. "How was your day, Josephine?" Rose asked, putting the wads of bills back in the rusty case. She didn't lock it, however. She was expecting Josephine's catch of the day.

Since Rose got home, her mood turned sour. Sometimes she thought she was bipolar for her constant mood changes, but she had been a little more hormonal since she was pregnant with Josephine. She began to sulk as she sloppily made the beds and set the pencil set on the nightstand, a small spark still burning with excitement.

However, other thoughts had made Rose's mind want to snap, so now was _not _the best time, and her daughter sensed that.

Josephine gulped. _How do I say this? _Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth and said, "I ran into someone interesting today."

Rose's smile widened, and her eyes glittered obsessively. Josephine cocked her head a little, noticing this for the first time._ I've never noticed that scary look before, _she thought.

"Is he rich?" Rose asked; Josephine expected that, of course. Rolling her eyes, she replied, "Yes, Mama, he was."

Rose extended her hand. Josephine glared at it. Taking another deep breath, she continued, "But before you get too excited, I should tell you that I never got anything from him."

Rose's smile dropped. Her eye began to twitch, and she put her hand down with an "Oh." She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Josephine gasped: she looked outraged! "Then how did you spend your time with him, hm? Admiring his looks?"

Josephine was shocked and scared of this new side of her mother. She had to look away from her eyes, which showed a new blue side she'd rarely seen, since it was hidden by the green. "And I actually got you a new set of drawing pencils today," Rose mumbled grouchily.

Josephine didn't know if she should say thank you or nothing at all. It was generous to get a present in the Dawson household, but at that moment she had a more serious matter to deal with. "Um, just out of curiosity, Mama, do we have any, uh, cousins or people like that?"

Rose blinked, and folded her arms at her chest, her hands in fists and her teeth clenched. She thought for a minute and then shook her head, confused. "No, Josephine. I told you, we're the last of the Dawsons."

"O-oh," Josephine stuttered, her voice faltering. "Right." She fiddled her thumbs, bit her lip, then hesitantly said, "About this man, I, uh, he showed me some of his work. Drawings. Really good ones, at that."

Rose's lips twitched. "W-what did you say?" she asked, her mouth turning dry.

Josephine became more curious at her mother's responses. _I wonder what her reaction will be when I tell her Jack's last name. She must already be curious with my previous question about the cousins, right?_ "I said that I was too distracted by his artwork. He invited me to go visit the art gallery he works at some time. You can come, too... It's free."

Josephine hoped that the "it's free" part would've gotten on her mother's good side, but it just seemed like Rose's mood became worse.

Rose just stood there, fists clenched so tight her knuckles had turned white. Her expression was unreadable. All of a sudden, her body seemed to relax, but Josephine couldn't make something out of this abrupt action. Then, she exclaimed, "Don't go to such a frivolous place! Who wants to see such things?" She took Josephine by the arm with a death grip, and started pulling her towards the bedroom. "You think I'm going to allow you to go now? Hm?" She glared at Josephine, and tugged her even harder.

"Mama!" she exclaimed. "But Mr. Dawson is very nice!"

Rose let go of her and turned around. Josephine had never been so terrified with wonder. Her mother looked like she was going to start convulsing, but her lip trembled and eye twitched, and she knew she struck a nerve. "_What _did you say?"

Josephine gulped and looked down at her feet, terrified. "I said that Jack Dawson is a very nice man." When she looked up, she was shocked at what she saw. Rose was completely still. Her eyes were staring almost lifelessly ahead of her, and she stood stiff as a board. As for Josephine, she was no longer afraid.

This meant to her that her mother must know this person! But, in what way? Brother, cousin... Maybe ex-husband?

While Josephine was getting excited over her discovery, she didn't have time to duck the vicious hand that struck her face. When the impact was over, her cheek was cherry red, and her hair had flown over her face. She looked like a deer who had heard its predator. It wasn't for a moment until she realized what happened and rubbed her raw skin. She slowly looked back at who had done it, tears spilling out of her eyes.

Never had Rose been so violent before.

Her mother's expression was malicious and angry. Her eyes, however, showed nothing Josephine could read. She thought she saw disbelief, but was jerked out of all thinking when Rose grabbed her by the arm again and started pulling Josephine, not caring that her daughter was tripping over herself by how fast she was walking.

"Mama!" Josephine cried. "Slow down, please! You're hurting me!"

That made Rose stop and let go. Sighing, she spoke. Her voice trembled. "Never speak about that man again, you hear me?"

Josephine nodded, not wanting to think of what would happen if she disobeyed her mother's orders at the moment. "Yes, Mama." She was then pushed into the unkempt bedroom, tripping over her book on the floor, and stumbling into her bed by the force. She could feel the drawing pencil set her mother bought for her snap under her weight. There was a click of the door locking; the sound of Rose walking away, sitting on the couch, and sobbing.

It took Josephine a while to unfreeze from her falling pose. Straightening up, she took her book off the floor, put it on her bed, and then sat next to it. She gathered up the broken pencil pieces and set them in the metal pack they came in. She eventually crawled under the covers and cried to herself, looking out the small window to the wall adjacent to where her bed's frame touched. She curled up into a fetus position, the moonlight reflecting off her tearful, green eyes. She heard Rose still sobbing, and it made her cry more.

_Why can't she tell me anything anymore? _It used to be that Rose and Josephine could tell each other all their secrets. Then today ruined it all, and she had no idea who her mother was anymore. She was a stranger to Josephine now. Rose Dawson was no longer the mother she knew and loved.

All because of the man named Jack Dawson.

...

After Josephine had cried out all her tears, she noticed that she had managed to fall asleep. She dreamed of expensive, puffy dresses with lace and ribbons and frills. She dreamt of her and her mother no longer poor, but rich, living with the man named Jack Dawson. She saw that her mother's hair was a startling red, with elegant curls that matched the tone of her pale skin. She dreamed that they were on a beach, throwing sand at each other, enjoying their time and loving each other more than anything. Rose then gave her a big hug, and they walked back home, hand and hand.

It wasn't until Josephine woke up that she realized the dream wasn't real. Her mother's hair was still grimy, and definitely not a luscious red. The marks of dirt on her arms, legs, and face made it impossible to know her real skin tone. Maybe it had tanned over the years.

There was one thing that Josephine had noticed that made her awake from that dream in a cold sweat:

Her mother's eyes had glowed and sparkled so much, it was impossible to tell who that person really was.


	5. Losing Trust

_**Chapter 4: Losing Trust**_

Rose eventually unlocked the door sometime after midnight and looked at her teenage daughter's face with teary eyes. She had cried for three hours straight, and yet she still felt like curling up in a ball and sobbing. She walked over to her daughter's bed and placed a light kiss on the top of her sleeping head. She could never harm her daughter, though she felt like she just did.

Josephine rolled around in her bed, and her arm came out of the covers, resting perfectly in the moonlight. Rose was shocked to find her nail marks left a dark bruise in her skin. Touching it lightly, guilt washed over her. _What have I done?_

She should've never gotten angry about Jack Dawson. Yes, she was angry at him for leaving her alone with their daughter, but he didn't know about Josephine at that time and he also had no idea he was going to die. But now she hears he's alive and well in New York City, working at an art gallery? Maybe even that building she passed by today! God, if only she had somehow known that her reality was true.

That was too much for Rose to take, the thought of his living, breathing body in New York. She felt a pulse go through her brain, her leg again throbbing, and she rubbed a tear off her cheek and crawled into bed, realizing she had never forgiven him for leaving her like this.

Alone.

...

Josephine woke up the next morning to find the bedroom door wide open, the sun shining through the torn curtains, and her mother so deep in sleep, she would've thought she was dead if it weren't for her slightly loud breathing.

Slowly slipping out of bed, Josephine smoothed out her dress, picked up a broken shard of mirror, and began to untangle her hair using her fingers. Later on she would go to the nearest lake and wash up in it. Today was the day she was going to break one of her mother's rules for the first time: she was going to see this Jack Dawson and figure out who he was once and for all.

Josephine slipped out of the room with stealth-like abilities, reminding her of a cat. She had taught herself the skills of walking swiftly and quietly, and anything else that might help her con people on the streets.

She and Rose had been conning people as long as she could remember. Of course, it was easier when she was younger, for people pitied children so much more easily. This was how Josephine grew up, though she had an inkling her mother hadn't always been poor like this.

Josephine remembered when she was younger, she would play dress-up in Rose's small closet. She had found something interesting - a beautiful, slim dress made of soft fabric, but it was wrinkled and smelled musty from stained salt water. It was the most expensive-looking dress Josephine had seen, and so she had put it on and showed Rose, who paled and blushed all at the same time. She told Josephine to get changed, and the next day she never saw it again.

Oh, and not to mention the necklace in the floorboards. Josephine never told her mother, but when she was rampaging around the room, angry about something stupid probably (she didn't remember the details), a plank in the floor came loose, and she took a peek. Inside, she pulled out a diamond chain necklace with a large, blue, heart-shaped pendant surrounded also in diamonds. Josephine had put it back, stunned, and completely forgot about it when Rose had come home and calmed her about whatever she was upset about.

Shaking her head, Josephine came back into reality. She silently went out the door, and closed it with a small _click_. At that, she headed toward the lake.

Once there, she washed off her hair, tried to get the stains out of her dress, and scrubbed any dirt off her face, arms, and legs, including under her fingernails. When she was finished and presumed herself "presentable," she laid down in the sun to dry.

Josephine could almost feel her hair curling as it resumed to its natural state. She smiled and laughed about how she had broken her mother's rules, and yet the world kept moving forward like nothing had happened.

The sun shone on her face and reflected off her green eyes. The smile dropped from her lips, and a new thought formed in her mind: If Jack Dawson is not a brother, cousin, nor an ex-boyfriend or husband, then who else could he be?

...

When she entered the large art gallery, Josephine gasped in delight. It was everything she pictured it to be: clean, large, expensive-looking, and full of rich people. She immediately went up to the front desk, her eyes still wandering everywhere, from the marble fountain to the stone columns, even as she asked where she might find a man named Jack Dawson. He told her he would be roaming the museum in case anybody had any questions. This made Josephine smile wider, that she had to look through the whole building to find him, and she didn't even notice the man's raised eyebrow at her tattered appearance.

Giggling like she was young again, she left the desk without even thanking him, too excited to wait any longer. She started with the modern paintings and drawings on the first floor, then moved her way up to the Picasso's, the Degas's, and the many other famous artists that littered the museum's walls. She found herself staring at a Monet painting, smiling widely at the beautiful water lilies, when someone came walking towards hers.

"Excuse me, miss," he said. "Please do not touch the- Josephine, what are you doing here?"

Josephine took her hands off the glass, ignoring the handprints, and smiled at Jack Dawson, who was giving her a curious glance. "You told me to come here," she said. "I'm so glad I have! Even though I broke my mother's rules." She turned back toward the Monet painting, and Jack continued to question her.

This girl definitely reminded him of someone. If he could only figure out who! Maybe it was the child of a woman he did a drawing of, or the older version of a baby he once drew. Whoever she was, he could never get to the bottom of it without questioning her further into her life. "What rules?" he asked, and looked up at the painting she was so fascinated by. He frowned a bit to himself; the water lilies seemed to mock him. Memories threatened to flood him, so he threw the key farther in his mind and focused on Josephine's dirty-blonde head... a color that looked just like his when he was younger.

_I believe you are blushing, Monsieur Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing._

Jack was snapped out of the scornful words by Josephine's voice. "Oh, when I came home without any money and told her about you, she completely panicked and locked me in the bedroom, saying I wasn't allowed to come here or see you." She sighed, cocking her head a bit to the left. "I wonder why..." she said, more to herself.

Jack blinked. Well, from her description of her mother, she was no longer who he thought she was. "Does she know me?"

Josephine shrugged. "Probably. Oh, that reminds me! Our last name is Dawson, too! I actually came here to ask... Mr. Dawson, are you okay? You don't look too well."

Jack had indeed blanched. Josephine's eyes made his sudden headache no better. They sparkled in wonder and freedom, just like someone else's did in that same green color... They choked memories out of him he hadn't thought about in a long time, but ones he was still reminded of every day.

"I'm fine, Josephine. Really," he finally said, though he was unsure. He shook his head to clear his dizzy mind. "It's just, you look so familiar to me, and yet it's not possible..." Jack wasn't sure if he wanted to go further. "You know what, never mind. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"Oh, yes!" Josephine cleared her throat and innocently looked into his eyes. "Do you happen to know a Rose Dawson?"

Jack remembered one thing: his mind sparking into flames as everything came rushing back to him. By that point, he had fainted.

...

Josephine came home that day still wondering what had actually happened. After getting help for Jack, she had been escorted out of the gallery, kicking and threatening the guards who did so at the same time. By her appearance, she was not surprised: they probably thought she was the cause of Mr. Dawson's dilemma.

But that wasn't the case. She was only a small cause of it. The main cause was two words: Rose Dawson.

Contemplating, she never saw the slap coming. So, when she felt the sting across her face, she was shocked. When reality came back to her, she was angry: her mother had done it again - had slapped her across the face without her knowing.

"Josephine Emma Dawson, how dare you break my rules like that!" Flames appeared in Rose's green eyes. Never before had she seen her mother in such a frantic frenzy, not even yesterday.

"Look, Mother, I had to go! You might not understand, but-"

Another slap. Josephine glared at her mother, who surprisingly had tears streaming out of her eyes. "How dare you go see him!" she exclaimed.

Josephine blinked. Then, without thinking, she yelled back, "Well, I wanted to know more! I know nothing of my family, Mama, I barely know you! I have no idea who my grandparents are, who my father was, and when this man who shared our last name happened to come by, I had to know who he was, and if – or how – he's related to me!"

Josephine was able to duck the last slap before Rose crumpled on the floor, sobbing like she never had before. Josephine found herself rubbing both cheeks, which stung terribly. Sighing, she cooled herself down a bit before saying in a voice that still held some anger, "Why do you not want me to see him?"

"I can't tell you!" Rose replied without any thought. "Our life is perfect as is. We don't need-"

"Perfect?" Josephine was horrified. "You find this perfect? Why don't you go back to your life full of rich parties, expensive dresses, and wealthy husbands, and then I'll agree with your statement!"

Rose gulped. "W-what?"

Josephine strolled across the room as lightly as she could without stomping, and bent down near a floorboard, ripping it out and pulling out the diamond necklace. "You don't think I've figured it out? That dress I found years ago and never saw again, this necklace that resembles everything but poverty! I may be wrong, you might've stolen all these things, but I want to hear you say it!"

Rose shook on the floor before saying slowly, "I was rich at a time. I am no longer."

"I can see that!"

"But… I chose to leave that life. I didn't know we'd be stuck in this position years later." And she began to sob again, harder than before. She got up, walked on wobbly legs, and led Josephine to the couch, where they both sat down. Giving her her hand, Rose looked pleadingly at Josephine's eyes, and said, "I'm so sorry I never told you, my sweet Josephine. It's just, I didn't know when the time was right, and..." Josephine ripped her hand out of her mother's, not believing what she was saying. "Oh, God, please forgive me! I lived a life full of luxury, and when your father died leaving me alone with you not even born yet, I had no idea what I was doing and just headed off in the horizon, expecting whatever was to come! When you were born and became ill, so terribly ill, I began to con people. I've seen the films, how fast it earned you money. You began to get better, and I kept using deception to get the dollars we needed. I taught you what I learned, and that's been our life ever since. I know you needed something better, but I was no longer financially able to support it..."

Josephine tried to ignore the story, and changed the topic by saying, "This Jack Dawson, he seems pretty rich. Maybe he can help us, but only if you answer my questions truthfully." Rose's face was contorted into completely misery. "Please!" she added, seeing the hesitance in her mother's eyes.

Rose nodded before she knew what she was agreeing to; whatever she could do to re-win her daughter's trust. "Y-yes, I promise!"

"Do you know a Jack Dawson?"

Rose blinked. "Uh, I-I knew one."

"Knew?"

"He's dead."

Josephine processed this statement, then said, "You sure?"

Rose nodded. "I haven't seen him for seventeen years. He died in my own arms, right in front of me! I would know..."

"How did he die?"

Rose hesitated. Then, she whispered: "Uh... I don't know if I should tell you yet."

Josephine began to cry from frustration. Why won't her mother tell her anything? Did she really not trust her? This was turning into yesterday all over again, the whole trust issue! "Then at least tell me who he is!"

Rose couldn't look in her daughter's eyes. "He's... He was... Oh, please, Josephine, it won't only hurt you, it will hurt me, just remembering him...!"

Josephine gave a cold stare. "Well, you're right about that," she said, getting up. "It's very painful to lose your trust. Good night... Rose."

Rose tried to make words, but they only came out in small, incoherent breathes. When the bedroom door slammed, she realized her daughter had called her by her first name, a sign of disrespect.

Rose knew one thing. She had lost her daughter's reliance, and the only way to win it back was by telling her the truth. But she couldn't tell her anything until she figured out who this Jack Dawson was.

_It could always be someone else,_ she thought. _Lots of people share the same names. Like the Boston Dawsons. _She barely noticed the tears streaming out of her eyes when she thought of this.

To her, Jack Dawson was one in a billion.


	6. Broken Hearts

_**Chapter 5: Broken Hearts**_

The next day, Josephine was sitting under her favorite tree in central park reading her book while also fuming about Rose. She was getting ready to yell at one of the characters, when two feet in girly, expensive shoes stood in front of her; the smell of perfume overwhelmed her nose. She sighed and closed her book. "What do you want, Danielle?"

Danielle was a very wealthy girl the same age as Josephine, but she was also snobby and a big brat. She liked ruining people's social lives, such as pulling at heartstrings, spreading fake rumors, and planning big betrayals. To Josephine, it was a miracle people even liked her.

She smirked at her and said in her sweet, fake voice, "Oh, Josephine, I don't want anything. I just want to know if it's true you trick people out of their money."

Josephine blinked at her. How could she know that? "Why does it matter to you?"

"So you _do_ con people?" Danielle feigned surprise. "Hm, typical for you people. I heard from a nice boy named Galen-" Josephine paled "-that your mother is ill."

Josephine gulped and opened her book back up. "Rose is feeling better, thanks for asking."

Danielle put a hand to her heart, and her perfect lips opened in fake shock, a perfect O-shape. "You call your mother by her first name? How disrespectful!" Her stunned face turned into one of her famous smirks, and she waited for Josephine's reaction with her heavily blackened eyelashes. If Josephine got upset or started pleading her not to tell Galen, then she would take that as a job well done and give her satisfactory wink in return, promising not to tell anyone while walking away, forming the perfect words in her brain when Galen came around.

Josephine rolled her eyes. "Leave me alone, Danielle."

Danielle switched her weight on to her other foot, and moved her hand to her hip. She was getting impatient, and she disliked the fact that Josephine showed no reaction besides annoyance. Knowing that acting was one of her best qualities, she hid her displeasure with a triumphant smile that could've passed to be genuine. "Gladly," she said, and turned around to walk away. "Oh, by the way..." Josephine dared herself to look up and in to those cruel, blue eyes. "Galen's going to be hearing about this."

The color drained from Josephine's face, and Danielle turned her head back round her shoulder so it faced straight ahead, eyes beaming with victory. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she strutted away, hips sashaying as she walked. She couldn't retain a smile.

She had been the champion.

...

That afternoon, Josephine didn't want to go home. She had spent hours fretting over Danielle's knowledge and Galen's ignorance, worried about losing his friendship. She decided that a trip to the splendorous art gallery was what she needed.

When she got there, she rushed through the doors and ran past the front desk, barely noticing the many heads that turned to stare at her. "Who let that ragamuffin in here?" came one man's nasty comment.

She ran up the stairs frantically, searching for Jack. "Mr. Dawson!" she cried when she saw him, running up to him and putting her arms around his neck.

Jack's face flushed when Josephine came barreling into him, for he had been talking to some visitors about one of the Degas paintings. The couple looked at him with wrinkled foreheads, concerned that the young girl was delusional. He mustered a smile and excused himself, the two visitors walking away whispering to one another.

"Josephine, what's wrong?" he asked her, worried by her tears. He still remembered his little fiasco yesterday, but he didn't have the courage to bring it up. After all, what if it was all real, and he had been living a lie?

"Mr. Dawson, I need to tell you something," she sobbed before beginning her story. She told him of her childhood and how she was a master of deception, and tried her best to avoid the topic of her mother, knowing Jack's reaction yesterday.

When she finished, her tears had ceased and she was left with a dripping nose. Jack handed her a handkerchief, and she took it thankfully. "I know she means the best for me, but sometimes she just makes me so… angry! She won't tell me anything anymore; it's as though she's a stranger! She has so much history, but she's too scared to tell me or something."

Jack was thinking up a response, but because he's never met Josephine's mother, the best he could do was give overused advice. "Maybe she needs some time, Josephine. She lost someone, right?"

Josephine nodded and rubbed her red nose. "Yeah, my father. Before I was born."

Jack smiled weakly and gave her a reassuring hug, but his thoughts turned gloomy. "Listen, I've lived long enough to have fallen in love. And I have, once. It was a long time ago, but I lost her. Her memory still haunts me every day…" His voice cracked and he held back his tears. "What I'm saying is that your mom is probably going through the same thing. She pushes aside the memories for so long, there will be days when they all overwhelm her. Believe me, I understand that very well."

Josephine took a deep breath. "It's just-" She sighed and looked down at her lap "—she's so… _different_ now and the way she reacts sometimes is… not like her."

Jack rubbed her back soothingly, thinking of his true love. "I'll tell you a secret," he said, and he laughed when her curiosity piqued.

"What?" she asked eagerly. "I love secrets!"

Jack's face turned serious as he stared into her familiar eyes. "You remind me of her," he confessed, not looking away from her green-blue irises.

Josephine cocked her head, confused. "Who?"

He smiled weakly. "Someone I knew a long time ago."

...

To help Josephine feel better, Jack took her to his favorite part of the park carrying his drawing supplies. Since they both shared a passion in art, he convinced her, as broken as she was, to help him. They were sitting on a park bench drawing the fountain when Jack built up the courage needed to ask the big question.

"What's your mother like, Josephine?"

Josephine put down the pencil she was using and inhaled sharply. "Beautiful. Well, once. Now she just kinda neglects her hygiene. We only use money when it's really needed, which is mostly for food. I think she would've been a great mother if she hadn't just... I don't know, snapped."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked, the chances of Josephine's mother being his lost love becoming less likely by every description.

Josephine played nervously with her fingers. "I don't want to talk about it."

For a minute there was just silence and still air. "The woman I fell in love with, she was beautiful," Jack began, her face appearing in his eyes. "Green eyes, red hair. I'd never seen a face so perfect before. I think it was love at first." Josephine listened intently, but didn't look him in the face. "I let it wait, though, because I was young. We both were.

"She was getting married to some rich American because her family was in debt, but she didn't want to marry the guy. I taught her how to be free, how to take life as it comes at you. I told her about my art and adventures, she told me about her dreams. She wanted to be some kind of artist, she told me. A dancer, maybe. Or a sculptor. But for me, she was an actress. She just lit up whenever she was the center of attention.

"We talked for hours before we had to separate ways. There was something about her that made me feel… connected. I wished we could've talked more. But later on, we did, and we danced and we sang and we talked some more. It may have been sudden, but I believe there's some love that just hits you in the face, you know? She was different, and I knew it. She didn't belong in that upper-society life of hers.

"For a moment I thought I lost her, but she came back to me. We spent a whole evening together, just being in love. That's when it happened, and we only had a few hours left. I risked my life for her, but I don't know what happened because when I woke up, she was gone."

Jack went quiet and Josephine dared herself to look into his eyes. He looked troubled and vulnerable, and she suddenly felt guilty for being so selfish complaining about her miserable life. "My mother, when she cries, she _cries_. Sometimes it's for hours. I wish I knew what she was crying about, though. I don't even know his name."

They kept their lips closed shut until Jack broke the bond. "Does she sound like your mother, Josephine?"

_What a strange question to ask_, she thought. For a second she wished that Jack's story sounded familiar, but that feeling of hope quickly dissipated. In the end, she just shrugged.

"Nope. That doesn't sound like her at all."

…

The next day, Josephine was nervously picking at her nails as she continued reading her novel. She was crying because one of her favorite characters, Éponine, had died in Marius's arms, who was her true love. Her last words had been, "And did you know, Monsieur Marius, I do think I was a little in love with you."

Oh, how true those words were for her! She was just like Éponine, penniless, a con artist, and a little crazy, but in love with someone who she couldn't have, for he was a good, pure man. How much she wished to take Galen away all for herself, lead him to the barricades, await their deaths, and once she died in his arms and he followed, they would be together forever. But, she wasn't the kind of person to let jealousy control her. And she definitely wasn't the - how to put this? - killing type.

But that was some silly novel, and comparing herself to Éponine would make her seem lunatic.

_He would listen to Danielle... _she thought, gloomy. Her book hadn't cheered her up, but she kept reading anyway. Éponine was dead... She sure wished she was right now, too!

Snapping the large novel shut, Josephine rolled her eyes and slapped it against her forehead. Groaning, she stayed that way, closed book rubbing across her forehead, until she heard a sickly familiar voice that made her peak from behind the binding.

"Josephine?" The tone of his words was sad and unbelievable. Josephine stared up into Galen's drooping blue eyes. "Is it true what Danielle is telling me? You tricked me?"

Josephine fumbled with her words. "Look, I wanted to tell you, but-"

"But what? How much money have I given you, anyway? For your sick mother, your mortgage, your who-knows-how-many _other_ untruthful statements!"

"Galen... Please," she said, choking on tears. "You're my only friend at the moment, the one person I can look up to. My mother, she... doesn't trust me."

"Oh, is this another one of your lies?" Josephine felt overwhelmed by guilt as he struggled to express his fury. "Charlatan! Deception!" he exclaimed, shutting his eyes in frustration.

"I'm out of here," he growled, brushing past Danielle's shoulder. Danielle gave a tiny, sarcastic shrug and stared Josephine down for a few seconds, her dark blue eyes blinking _trés faux_ innocence.

Danielle's glare made Josephine uncomfortable. It had "I told you so" written all over it. Blinking her eyes away, she cried, "Galen!" Inevitable tears streamed down her face. He didn't turn around, and Danielle's smirk and triumphant goodbye wave made her want to puke. She picked up her book and ran back home, not looking where she was going, not caring anymore what she did, as long as she made the distance between them longer.


	7. Unplanned Rendezvous

_**Chapter 6: Unplanned Rendezvous**_

Caledon Hockley was indeed a very rich man. Since his father, Nathan's, passing five years ago, he had inherited the entire steel industry. He had married his darling Eleanor, and had three beautiful children: Harold, Louise, and little Katherine. However, there was a secret plaguing Caledon – or Cal, as we shall call him – that's been haunting him for seventeen years.

For seventeen years ago, on a bright Wednesday morning, him and his fiancée boarded the luxurious Ship of Dreams. Yes, at its time, the _Titanic_ was the largest moving object ever made by man. Cal could recount its making – built in Belfast, owned by the White Star Line, funded by Harland and Wolff – but facts were nothing compared to experiencing its majestic maiden voyage on the high seas.

The tragic part for Cal, however, was his stubborn seventeen-year-old fiancée, Rose. His soon-to-be wife, whom he couldn't wait to call Mrs. Hockley, née DeWitt Bukater, was a very spoiled girl indeed. The wild spirit she was, she ran off with another man never to be heard from again – a man of very distasteful social status, whom Cal called a gutter rat.

He remained grumpy about it the whole voyage, praying that in the end she would come to her senses. But she continued to see him, and he continued to go on in a cold, heartless rage, calling her terrible names and eventually resulting to physical violence – a slap on the cheek, just to keep her head straight on who he was and the power he had.

The last time he saw her he was pointing a gun to her and her bohemian lover's heads in a jealous outburst. The ship was sinking, and plummeting fast, and he had led them deeper into what was soon to be their watery grave. If he had realized at that time how much he loved her, then maybe she would still be here with him; or if not, at least she would be alive.

_If she had lived, she'd be thirty-four next month_, he thought, dreaming of her porcelain face.

He was immature, he admitted. But now that he was a grown man of forty-six years, regretful activities such as shooting guns at people's heads were simply out of the question.

He held a guilty grudge against Rose and her gutter rat for years until he met Eleanor. Unlike Rose, she knew her position in society and what it was like to be a courteous, grateful wife. And the best part was: there was no Jack Dawson to take her away.

"Daddy, are we in New York yet?" asked little Katherine, who had her clean, manicured hands on the polished train windows. Since Cal's ancient grudge against Jack, he made it a goal of his to contribute to the poor as a way of apologizing to Rose. He did feel bad for how he reacted to their affair, but that didn't mean he should've acted out as he did in 1912.

So, he had set up programs to help the penniless in New York. He was originally going to set them up in England, the last place Rose saw before drowning in the cold sea, but he changed his mind last minute and placed them in New York. _For the place she would've won her freedom_, he decided. After thinking hard on the subject, he came to the conclusion that if they all had made it, he probably would've let her go with Jack in the end. It was a rational choice that any man would've gone with instead of suffering day after day with a heartbroken wife who would never be his.

_What a burning fire she would've, too, if I kept her trapped like that, _he thought, reminiscing of her fiery spirit.

"Just an hour or two, Katie," he replied to his youngest daughter, who was eight years old. "I promise we'll have that New York apartment you've always dreamed about."

Katherine had her mind set on living in New York City as a successful business woman. Lucky for her, her father was of enormous wealth, so anything she simply dreamed of could appear in front of her eyes with the scribble of a pen. A master of writing checks was how she described her father.

"Father, where will we be staying again?" Louise asked, annoyed. "Did you say an apartment?"

Cal cringed at Louise's moody, spoiled behavior. "No, darling, I meant the Waldorf Astoria."

Louise was the drama queen of the Hockley children, somehow ending up even more stubborn than Rose. Everything had to be as she wanted it, and she was disgusted by the poor. Poor Cal, trying to be the best father he could be, he paid his only son and heir to watch over his selfish daughter so she wouldn't cause a fit in front of the unfortunate. Eleanor, Katherine, and Harold all supported Cal in his programs and public speeches, and they all agreed – secretly, of course – that Louise needed to be kept away.

Cal gave his youngest daughter a sad, apologetic smile. Her bright face faltered and she looked back out the window, crushed. He knew how badly she wanted to settle down in her own home, not some reused hotel room, and then decorate it lavishly with her father's checkbook. However, what Louise wanted, Louise got.

Harold just sat there reading his economics book, too preoccupied by his own college life to care about his family's issues. He had always been the quiet, logical one, and Cal was relieved it was him taking over the family business and not his persistent daughters.

So he had Harold, fresh out of college; Louise, fifteen and in prep school; and little Katherine, whom he called Katie. Yes, the Hockley family was – as much as he and Eleanor hated to admit it – quite a mess.

Sighing, Cal scooted on the plush leather seat, his wife's gloved hand rubbing his wrist in a soothing way. He smiled in her direction, and she smiled back. She had always been kind about his feelings, and he would always respect her for that. Their generation was the only one to remember the tragedy of the American steel tycoon's son losing his fiancée, and Cal was kind of glad about that. What would his delicate children think if they knew of their father's deceased girlfriend?

Exhaling deeply, Cal closed his eyes and thought of Rose, letting the smooth rocking of the train extract him of all those horrible memories.

…

At the same time Cal was arriving in New York, Rose Dawson was promptly taking the cash out of the gloved hand of some housewife. "You poor thing!" she had exclaimed, horrified by the story of Rose's dying daughter and her husband who had died in the war. "I feel _so_ relieved that Mr. Hockley is helping you. I couldn't live with myself if I knew so many innocents were suffering!"

Rose cringed at the mention of his name. It only brought up bad memories of an abusive, arrogant fiancé. She grudgingly pulled the few dollars out of the woman's hand. "Thank you," she said dully before turning around and speeding on her heels. The woman, who was rudely interrupted midsentence, was left stunned.

"Hmph!" She finally verbalized her dislike. "Why I never!"

Meanwhile, Cal and the Hockleys had disembarked from the train with their luggage. "I'll lead the way," he reassured the young Katie, who was suddenly afraid of getting lost. "Taxi!"

Rose pushed through the New York crowds, tears threatening to overwhelm her. The sour thought of Cal left behind the sweet taste of her Jack, who she had lost. She squeezed through the bodies of men, women, and children, mostly of middle-class wealth. The sound of a train whistle sounded in the distance, which only reminded Rose of how she escaped the North Atlantic waters.

Cal sped through the dense train station and squinted his eyes at the bright sunlight. He waved Katherine, Louise, and Harold into the awaiting vehicle in a rush. Eleanor smiled at her husband before taking his hand. "Hopefully everything will go as planned, dear," she commented, proud of his work for the penniless cause.

He smiled sweetly back before helping her in. He was about to close the door and go instruct the attendant about the luggage when a speeding mass of red flashed before his eyes.

Rose was barely paying attention where she was going, much less caring who she ran into. She found the opportunity to squeeze by a man and his family when she realized that dodging the husband was going to be much more of a challenge than she thought.

Running into his arm which had suddenly lunged forward to take hold of the car handle, Rose stumbled on the ground while scraping her calloused hands in the process.

"My God!" Cal cried as Eleanor screamed in surprise. "Are you all right, miss?"

Rose was in the middle of rubbing her sore, bleeding hands when the sound of his voice made her froze. Looking up slowly, she met his eyes, realization hitting them both. Her stomach giving a shriek, she quickly picked herself up, staring at Cal with wide, wild eyes before running off.

Cal's face whitened when he comprehended who the woman was. At first he thought, by her rugged appearance, she was a woman of the large lower-class population in New York. Then, after getting a closer look at her eyes, he knew who she was: Rose. But he also knew that she was supposed to be dead.

"Rose?" he tried to get out, but it sounded more like a croak. Eleanor's face was whiter than his, recognizing the woman by the pictures in the paper long ago. She put a shaky hand on his shoulder, ignoring Louise's prying voice, and beckoned him inside.

Shaken, Cal entered the automobile and the Hockleys resumed the trip in a stony silence – with Louise's constant nagging in the background, of course.

…

Rose was panting by the time she reached the place she was looking for, tears streaming down her dirty face. They left light markings behind, and Rose, remembering the reason she had traveled so far to the other side of town, felt embarrassed.

For once, she was humiliated by her appearance.

Her breathing still came out shaky and she was still shocked by seeing Cal's face, but the sugary thought of seeing Jack again made her knees go weak. _If it's true…_ she thought.

There was a marble fountain right outside the gallery, so she scooped some water up in her injured hands and splashed it on her face. She watched in fascination through the reflecting wall as she removed the dirt and grime that had made a home there. She then continued to wash her hands and arms, trembling with anticipation.

Finally, Rose took a deep breath as she began to frantically fix her hair in front of the art gallery doors. The glass was so shiny, she could see her reflection, and she couldn't stop staring. Last time Jack had seen her, she was a healthy-looking and clean seventeen year old. Now, she was anything but those three things. She was a filthy, ragged, thirty-three going on thirty-four year old woman.

_You have to do this, Rose,_ she thought. _For Josephine. _Another deep breath, and she was inside the building. She didn't gawk like Josephine did. She instead rolled her eyes at the grandeur and made her way to the front desk.

"I'm looking for a Jack Dawson," she said in her most ladylike voice.

The man gave her the same expression he gave Josephine. "He's usually roaming about the museum."

"Can you at least give me a certain floor?"

He sighed and said, "Try the third floor."

Rose thanked him and walked towards the stairs. On her way past a glass display, a regular sheet of paper caught her eye. Her heart pounding, she glanced at it, and what she saw caught her breath.

On the beige paper was a drawing... and it was of her. There was no more doubt in who this Jack Dawson was; it was really him. Rose's eyes watered, and she put a hand to her mouth. It wasn't something she posed for... It must've been drawn by memory. Or, to make it sound more romantic, by heart.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man walk up to her. But she kept her eyes on the artwork display, heart pounding loudly in her ears. "Ah, those are one of my drawings, miss," he said. "The name's Jack Dawson."

Rose was paralyzed. Was it really him standing right next to her? Her heart broke slightly that he didn't recognize her. She dared herself to look into his eyes, those soft blue eyes she hadn't seen in years. The same eyes she was reminded of every day when she saw her daughter's familiar spirit.

As she turned her head, Jack saw her shockingly familiar green irises, and his breath stuck in his throat. When he finally saw her face, he was dumbfounded to see how much she had changed. Her eyes, which were once a shimmering, emerald green, were now a dull, pointless feature. "Rose?" he exclaimed, feeling lightheaded again.

"Jack?" she said. She looked faint, and he saw her blanch, even under the stubborn spots of dirt and grime that covered her face. "But you're... You're supposed to be... What...? Jack?" And by that point, she was knocked out cold in his arms.


	8. Remembrance

_**Chapter 7: Remembrance**_

Never before had Josephine's feet felt so heavy; she felt like it took her an eternity to get home. She was a human waterfall by the amount of tears pouring out of her eyes. When she finally reached the door, her hand fumbled on the knob before she was able to open in. She ran in, in a daze as she crossed the room, closed the bedroom door, and fell onto her bed, sobbing like she never had before.

...

Once in the Waldorf Astoria hotel, Cal stood at the window in their lavish room, deep in thought. He rubbed his jawline in a desperate kind of way; he _needed_ to know where she was.

And, most importantly, he needed her to know he was sorry.

Every day for the past seventeen years, he wondered why there was no Rose DeWitt Bukater on the list. Now, looking down at the newspaper in his hands, he realized why.

Maybe there was no one named Rose DeWitt Bukater on the survivor list, but there was one name that Cal felt absolutely rash for never checking: Rose Dawson.

…

Rose's eyes began to adjust to the bright light that shone on her eyes. Groaning, she closed them again, trying to relive the dream that Jack Dawson was alive and not dead in New York City. Sighing, she rolled over on her side and felt a giant pain stab through her heart: she had left Josephine alone and unaware on her whereabouts. _What was I thinking? _she thought. _Does she think I ran away, leaving her alone? Oh God, I must get home immediately! _

Rose grabbed the ice pack on her forehead and put it on the mahogany coffee table next to the couch she was laying on. _Where am I? _

"Oh, good, you're awake!"

When her eyes finally stopped seeing double, she blinked. Was that Jack's voice she heard? Shaking her head, she straightened up and sat on the couch, putting her legs on the floor, trying to get up, and responded, "Thank you so much for seeing to me. I had no idea what came over me! Now, I must-"

Her eyes widened. Was that really him holding the tray with the cup of tea? Never before had she seen such a sight from him, so formal! She gulped, her mouth suddenly dry. She felt her legs go weak and her head go dizzy again, and so she plopped right back down on the couch, opened her eyes, and screamed.

She screamed until she felt her lungs burning. Jack came up behind her, put the tray down on the coffee table, and tried to calm her down, telling her everything was all right and she was fine, but she just kept shaking her head, yelling, "You're supposed to be dead!"

There came a pounding on the wall, and a rude woman's voice yelled, "Keep it down in there!"

Jack, seeing that Rose was still screaming, put his hand over her mouth. She stopped long enough for him to say, "Keep it down, Rose, before we both get kicked out," and then, to his surprise, she bit him.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, pulling back and examining the teeth marks now imprinted in his skin. For the time it took him to do this, Rose had gotten up from the couch and was searching for a way out. She was breathing heavily and hot tears were streaming down her cheeks. _This is a dream. This is all just a dream! He can't be alive... He just can't be!_

A gentle hand grabbed her arm, and Rose felt like an electric shock had went through her body. She was immediately pacified, her breathing going back to normal, and the tears were blocked by the calmness that overcame her. She closed her eyes, it felt so good. Before she knew she said it, she whispered, "I've missed you."

Jack smiled at her words, which came with so much longing. She began to sway, and it took Jack all his strength not to swear as she keeled over and fainted again.

...

Meanwhile, Josephine was still sobbing into her ragged pillow, trying to plug up her tears. But anytime she thought of Galen, she just sobbed harder. She thought thinking bad things about him would help her, but just the thought of him made her cry.

It took her awhile before she contained herself. She thought of Rose, and how she had not been home all day, and her thoughts wandered from Galen to where her mother might be. Gulping, she began to cry again, this time for being so cruel to Rose when she had only done what was best for her.

...

"Rose. Rose, wake up!"

Rose sighed contently, memories of her previous life with Jack overwhelming her dreams. She smiled every time he smiled, and she laughed whenever he laughed. She never wanted to wake up.

Jack was hovering over her, worried since she had not woken up yet. He raised an eyebrow when she started rolling around, laughing and smiling at nothing at all. He left the cool, wet towel on her forehead and sat down on a chair, rubbing his head and closing his eyes. He felt a tension headache coming on, not only because Rose was becoming hard to deal with, but also because he tried to come up with a solution to _why_ she was acting so strange in the first place. Never before had he seen her so... _outrageous_.

There were so many questions to ask her that also crammed his brain, almost to the point of exploding. Where had she been all these years? How had she survived? Why were her clothes and hygiene so poor?

Poor. Jack examined her again, and a thought in his brain lit up like a light bulb: she was poor. And she must've been for a very long time, from the looks of her. Guilt washed over Jack like a giant wave.

_She's like this because of me,_ he thought. _Because I made her leave her other life. _

The difference between the past and the present was that he did have something to offer her now. A decent amount of cash, shelter and food, and a shoulder to cry on when times got bad. He hoped things never went like that, but the only reason he'd never dated or married again was because his heart still belonged to Rose. The only thought that strangled him was if her heart belonged to someone else now, because, well, she assumed he was dead all these years.

Rose now lay still, and it caught his breath at how beautiful she still was. Dirty and torn up a little, but to him she still held that flame he loved - no, _loves_ - about her. She reminded him of the Sleeping Beauty.

_But if I tried to kiss her, _he thought, _she'd probably attack me. _

From her reaction to him, Jack knew that Rose just needed some time to get used to his existence. Then she would be fine and calm. But for now, Jack had to work on it. She still seemed a little on the edge, and he didn't want to intimidate her with anything. That included showing great amounts of affection and scaring her.

As he bent down to take the towel off and put a hand on her forehead to check her temperature, Rose's eyes shot open, and before Jack knew what was happening, she had pinned him down on the floor.

_Boy,_ _does she have a grip! _

Her sparkling green eyes seemed to pierce his soul and mind. _She can read it, can't she? _He thought of how much he loved her, and how much he still did, and how he wished every day she would come back to him. But her reaction didn't change. Her eyes didn't light up, her lips didn't smile, and Jack's hopes fell.

"Who are you?" she asked, not letting go of him nor getting off of him.

Jack gulped. There was something about her voice that showed him she was serious. _Does she really not know who I am?_

"Rose, it's me. Jack Dawson." He struggled to get up, but Rose pushed him right back down, sending a pain up his arm.

"Prove it!"

Jack sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "I'm from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, and I've been orphaned since I was fifteen. We met on the _Titanic_... Remember, Rose? You had appeared on the upper decks and caught me staring at you. I couldn't take my eyes off of you, and I still thought about you when you left. I saved you after you tried to attempt suicide by jumping off the back of the ship, because you didn't want to go through with the arranged marriage your mother forced you into. Your father had died, leaving your family in debt, and you had to marry a man named Cal Hockley. You slipped after you tried to climb back over, and you lied that you had only slipped after trying to see the propellers, and I had saved you. I was invited to dine with you the next day, and the next morning you came to apologize, and we talked most of the day away. I taught you how to spit like a man, remember? And I promised I'd take you to the pier in Santa Monica, where we'd ride the roller coasters until we throw up and drink cheap beer-"

"Enough!"

Jack had been so lost in the memories, he hadn't noticed that Rose had slackened on her grip, and she was now curled up in front of the couch, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. She was so into the story as well, the memories, that she had not noticed the tears until Jack mentioned the promises he made her. She remembered everything as though it were yesterday. She felt more tears threatening to burst, and so she put her head on her knees and cried.

Jack watched her shoulders heave and her body shake, and he felt more guilt wash over him. "Rose," he whispered, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He felt her tense, but she didn't object, so he left it there. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, Jack, it's okay," she said, lifting her head and wiping her tears away. "I asked for proof, and I got it." She then smiled at him, her eyes glistening with happiness. "It's really you?"

Jack nodded, not able to hold his smile. He watched Rose laugh, a laugh he remembered too well, and he knew the previous tension between them had broken. "What are you laughing about?" he asked.

"Oh, just at how silly I was being. Of course it's you!" She was in his arms before either knew it.

Jack was the first to pull apart, and they stared into each other's eyes, but only for a moment. Rose broke it, wiping her eyes and nose on her arm, and said, "I'm sorry, but I have to go. Josephine must be wondering where I am and-"

Jack put a finger to her lips, and said, "I'll go get her. You stay here and wash up. Where do you live?"

Rose hesitated, wondering if she should tell him. _He must already know you're poor. _"I live in the poorer section of the city, a mile or so from the park. We live in the only apartment building in the area. Floor three, room twelve."

Jack nodded, repeating what she said in his head. "Got it. Now, Rose, the bathroom is right down the hall. Don't be afraid to ask the neighbor to borrow some clothing."

"The one that yelled at us?" Rose was shocked.

Jack laughed, and Rose blushed at how she had even thought of such a thing. "No, the other one. She'll be glad to help. Just ask for a simple day dress and a night gown."

Rose looked and him, curious. She raised an eyebrow. "A night gown?"

"I'm not going to let you stay in that dump. You'll be living with me now, all right?" She only blinked at him emotionlessly. Suddenly uncomfortable, he blushed and added, "Uh, is that okay with you?"

Rose nodded, smiled, then winked. "That's totally fine with me."

Jack laughed. "Okay. I'll be back in an hour."

Before Jack left, though, he just had one question he had to ask. "Rose?"

"Hm?"

"What relation is Josephine to you?"

Rose looked up at him, and she went a little uneasy. "She's… She's my daughter."

Jack's stomach fell, though he already knew the answer. He opened the door and mumbled, "Oh..." before exiting the apartment.

When he closed the door, Rose got up from the floor and whispered, "Our daughter."

...

Cal appeared at the front desk of the hotel with a huge desire. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Do you know where I can find a book of the residents of this city?"

The clerk nodded politely and handed him a heavy phone book full of addresses and names, quickly returning to his work. Flipping through it, he found the Ds. "Dawson… Dawson…," he murmured, his blood turning cold by what he saw.

Right there, in black ink, was a name that Cal hadn't seen on the survivor list, nor wanted to see again: Jack Dawson.

…

Josephine had stopped crying by the time Jack arrived. She was pacing the living room, panicking. Where had her mother gone? That's why it was such a relief to her when there came a knock at the door.

She ran for the knob, but then stopped. _Why would Mama have to knock? It's her home._

She opened it, and there stood Jack. "Come on," he said. "Pack all of your things. You're going to be living with me now."


	9. Realization

_**Chapter 8: Realization**_

Josephine shoved all of her and her mother's belongings into her old pillowcase, her mind racing. She felt the blood pounding in her ears, so loud and insistent. She wished so much things would go back to normal; she would trust her mother again, Galen would still be her friend and visit her every day at the park, and then she would return to their ramshackle home at the end of each day, counting cash on the wobbly dining table.

Wiping the last of her tears from her face, she tied the end of the pillowcase together in a knot and took one last look at the only home she's ever known. Scanning the room to make sure she had everything, Jack came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Everything will be all right. Your mother is at my place right now."

Josephine was alerted; her curiosity piqued. "Why?"

Jack never replied, and Josephine saw that he had fallen into deep thought. Eventually, he said, "Do you have everything?" He seemed to shake himself out of his reverie.

"Um, I think so," Josephine responded. She went over all the significant things in her mind. "Oh, wait!" Running back into the old bedroom, she opened the closet door, which creaked on its hinges. She got on her knees, not caring about how dirty her skirt must be getting, and shuffled around, feeling the floor for a loose board. Jack came up behind her, wondering what she was doing. "Aha!"

Josephine ripped out a board and pulled out a decent scrapbook. Unlike most of their things, the book was in good condition; its original color was white and had stayed that way. Josephine smiled when she saw it. "My mother has so many pictures in here. She would've literally killed me if I forgot it."

Before she could shove it in the pillowcase, however, Jack asked, "Do you mind if I see that?"

Josephine stared at him. No emotion showed in her eyes, and Jack took that as a good sign. "Uh, sure," she said, handing it to him.

Jack flipped through the pages of the scrapbook. It started with pictures of Rose (some with other people he assumed as friends included) from seventeen years ago. There was one that must've been taken without her knowing, because it was of her profile, the side of her face, smiling at someone, probably at a joke a friend made. In each picture, Jack noticed Rose's belly seemed to increase in size. _Yup, _Jack thought. _This is her real daughter._

Jack dreaded this moment. He was now uneasy around Josephine. He knew he could be her father, but what if it was someone else?

Nine months of pictures later, there were photos of a newborn baby with glittering eyes and rosy cheeks. She looked healthy and plump, and in every picture, even as young as a few days, she was smiling. Then Jack found a picture of Rose with her child. Rose's smile looked as though it would be wider if given the chance. The baby cradled in her arms looked as though it was giggling happily.

Jack flipped the page. In each picture, Josephine was growing. And in each picture, their clothes became tighter on their bodies, not being able to afford anything else. Even the once healthy-looking Josephine began to look more scrawny and tattered.

"Rose said that every picture holds something for her. Do you think you know what she means?" Josephine asked suddenly, making Jack jump. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Jack was so into the pictures he forgot where he was. "It's fine." He closed the scrapbook and handed it back to her. He never answered Josephine's question.

…

"Cal, are you sure you want to do this?" Eleanor was concerned that her husband was being irrational, chasing after a woman who didn't want to be near him. It was obvious by her reaction that morning. Her heart fluttered nervously, for the mad look on Cal's face made her feel uneasy. "Cal, are you sure you want to do this?" she reiterated when he didn't respond.

Cal shoved all bad outcomes aside and responded hastily, "Yes, Eleanor, I'm sure!" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath when he noticed how quick those words had come out of his mouth.

"Eleanor," he sighed, taking her hands and looking into her worried eyes, "I'm certain, all right? I thought she's been dead all these years! The least I could offer her is an apology."

Eleanor smiled sadly, but kept her gaze on her husband's serious expression. "It's just… I don't understand, Cal. I guess I never will. This woman runs away to be with another man, and you still want to see her after that? It seems irrational."

Cal grinned. "Of course it's irrational, my dear Eleanor." He then straightened his back and looked out the window. "Who ever said the world made sense?"

She smiled again, but it quickly dropped. She looked down at her wrung hands. "Promise me that if she's married and well… Please don't bother her." She was still worried about her husband's old actions.

He was hurt by Eleanor's distrust, but he guessed that's what happens when violence becomes your only solution. "I promise, my dear," he said, taking her hands in his and kissing them. "I'll be there for a short time and then I'll be gone."

Eleanor reached into her purse and pulled out a diamond ring. Her lips were straight and serious. "This is the ring you gave her?"

Cal's heart broke at the sight of Rose's old engagement ring. He had found it with that vile drawing she had left behind and shoved it in his pants pocket, too scared it would fall out of his coat. Gulping, he nodded and gently took it out of Eleanor's gloved fingers.

She put her hands on his shoulders, sensing her husband's uncertainty. "She'll forgive you, Cal." They looked into each other's eyes. "That's my promise."

The two shared a kiss before Cal realized how cold his heart had become. Hesitant, he shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "There's something else, however, that I found out…"

Eleanor, turning concerned, felt the same cold feeling in her stomach. "What's that?"

With shaky hands, Cal pulled out a packet of folded papers out of his coat pocket. "I checked her medical records to see if there was anything I could help her with." His face looked pale and sick when he handed it to his wife. "There's something I think we should consider."

Eleanor, taking a look at the documents, felt a wave of nausea by what she read. "She has…?"

Cal nodded, his stomach churning. "I know."

…

"Excuse me, Mr. Dawson," Josephine asked, catching up to him as they left the apartment building. Jack had been walking fast, too deep in thought to notice reality. He didn't realize this until Josephine took his arm. "Please slow down, sir!"

Jack stopped so quickly, Josephine ran into him. "Oof!"

"I'm sorry, Josephine, it's just... Do you know how long I've been looking for her?"

Josephine rubbed her head. "Who?" she grumbled.

"Rose. Your mother."

Josephine cocked her head, curiosity shining in her beautiful green eyes. "What's your relation to her?"

It was the same question Jack had asked Rose about Josephine an hour ago, but to him it felt like ages being away from her. "Uh..."

"Oh, please don't tell me you won't tell me anything either!" Josephine interrupted. She groaned and stomped to the nearest bench, sitting down on it, getting in her traditional pouting position. Jack came up behind her and patted her back as she ranted, "Seriously, she won't tell me anything anymore! Do you know how hard it is to squeeze information out of her? It's like a cobra trying to kill a rat, nearly impossible! Oh...!" Her eyes began to tear up at how she compared her mother to a rat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay. Please, continue."

"Well, I'm getting older and I'm finally realizing I know nothing about her. Her past, I mean. Do you know what it's like to ask her such things, and not being able to fall asleep due to her endless sobs?" Josephine huffed, annoyed.

Jack gulped away guilt. "She cried over questions about her past?"

Josephine nodded. "Yes, anytime I brought it up! But, that's not the worst part. Is there something wrong with asking questions about your father? Because she just gets all worked up and can barely look me in the eye. Once, she locked me in the bedroom after I questioned her too far. Is there something wrong with that?" She thought it best to lie; she didn't want to tell him that he was reason she was locked in the bedroom. Best to make her life sound so much worse than it was out of habit. She didn't notice the tears in her eyes until she thought of this. _Who am I kidding?_ she thought. _I might not have been locked up for questioning who my father was, but I still get emotional breakdowns to witness. _

Jack sat down next to her, trying to reassure her that any issues with her mother would be resolved with time. Josephine looked up at him, eyes full of sorrow. "What's wrong with me?"

"What do you mean?" Jack said in a calm voice.

"Why am I so emotional? I get worked up over everything!"

Jack thought about her question. Was it just how she was, or did she have a real health issue? Or… was it the poverty that affected her? "Ya know what, Josie, I don't know."

Josephine sniffed and looked right into his eyes. Jack shivered; it was as though he was looking at Rose. "You called me Josie."

Jack was startled by her comment. "Well, yes, is there something wrong with that?"

Josephine laughed. "No, of course not! It's just," she smiled, but it was more sad than happy, "my mother hasn't called me that in years. It's nice to have a nickname again, though."

Jack laughed along with her. "Well, Josie," he said, smiling when Josephine did, "let's get you settled in at my place, okay?"

...

They arrived at Jack's apartment a few minutes later, laughing at something Jack said. "Wow, Jack, this is some place you've got!" Josephine exclaimed, looking around the room. She placed her things on the extravagant couch and walked up to the fireplace mantle. Instead of pictures in frames, they were drawings. Again, there was the same woman that rang a bell in her mind, yet the name didn't come easily.

Jack came up behind her like he had done so many times today. _Boy, is she a curious child,_ he thought, smiling. _Just like her mother._

Josephine fingered the frame of the drawing gently, frowning and squinting at it. She cocked her head like she had done so many times in her life. "Uh, Jack?" she began.

"Hm?" He had been knocked out of happy thoughts of him, Rose, and Josephine living a happy life together. It was almost too good to be true.

Before Josephine could ask, though, she gasped. "Whoa!"

Jack followed her eyes, and saw that Rose had just come out of the bathroom, not noticing them because she was fixing the strap on her bathroom robe. She glanced up at the sound of her daughter's voice, and saw Josephine and Jack gaping at her.

She looked away, insecure and protective. "What?" she said, wishing to lock herself in the bathroom. Their stares made her uncomfortable.

"Rose?" Josephine said, examining her from head to toe. "Is that really you?"

Rose's heart throbbed and slightly broke at how her daughter still called her by her first name. She sighed, then dared herself to look into her daughter's eyes. "Well, yes, without the dirt and grime." She was now in a grumpy mood, thanks to Josephine. She was content before, with Jack back in her life, and the good feeling of taking a bubble bath after months without bathing made her skin tingle.

Josephine was still shocked. Never before had she seen her mother so clean! In pictures, yes, and maybe in long ago memories, but nothing she could remember...

Jack cleared his throat and said, "You look great, Rose."

Rose still didn't have the feeling to smile. She could no longer look either in the eye, and instead she walked up to the sack Josephine left on the couch and rummaged through it. Her eyes caught sight of the scrapbook, and she slowly lifted it out, holding it gently in her hands like Josephine and Jack had before. Closing her eyes and bringing it up to her chest, Rose sighed deeply and said, "Thank you, Josephine, for remembering to bring the scrapbook." She fingered the binding, liking the feel of the smooth cover. "Now, if you'll excuse me, it's been quite a... _shocking_... turn of events, and I'd like some rest."

...

When Rose had disappeared in the guest bedroom, Jack and Josephine stayed still as though she left behind a glow that they couldn't take their eyes off of. Josephine was the first to look away, and she said, mostly to herself, "Could that really be her?" She then looked up at the drawing and realization hit her like a thousand bricks; a light bulb flashed in her brain. "So that's who this woman is!" She pointed at the frame so Jack knew what she was talking about. "She's Rose."

Jack held back tears. It was a skill he learned pretty well after seventeen years of being alone, heartbroken and wishing every day for Rose to come back. After all, he thought she was dead like how she thought he was dead.

Josephine noticed Jack's silence and turned to him. "What is your relation to her?" she asked in a serious tone.

Jack managed to look into her eyes after noticing her strict, pleading voice. Before answering, he looked back at the drawing and said, "We were lovers. A very long time ago..."

Josephine's eyes lit up.


	10. Grimace

_**Chapter 9: Grimace**_

Jack noticed her reaction, and was taken aback by the glow in her eyes. "What is it, Josie? Are you all right?"

Josephine had been knocked into a trance of deep reverie. Could this man possibly be her father? Sure, they shared the same hair color, but many men have that dirty-blond pigment... Still, he clearly stated that he was a lover of Rose's. It must've meant something big for both of them since Jack had seemed lost until Rose had appeared, and how Rose had blanched, cried, and yelled at Josephine for mentioning a Jack Dawson. Overall, she must've been the outcome of their previous love affair.

She looked at him, questioning his personality and appearance. _Besides my hair color, what else do I share with him in looks? What about his personality? I barely know him!_ She cocked her head in that special way of hers again. Softening up, she asked him curiously, "Can you be my father?"

Jack was confused by her question. From the way she said it and looked at him, it had two meanings: if he was her biological father, or if he would act like a father towards her. He decided to answer both. "I honestly don't know, Josie. But I will be your father if you want me to be."

Josephine smiled so wide, it was contagious. She wrapped her arms around Jack's waist, hugging him close, happiness spreading throughout her whole body. Her world was complete: she finally had a father!

Jack was, at first, startled by Josephine's embrace. Tears almost sprang to his eyes if it weren't for his years of training; he hadn't been hugged like that since... Well, since Rose was around more than seventeen years back. He embraced her back with just as much passion, his heart swelling with fatherly affection towards this young girl.

She then kissed him on the cheek and said, "Good night, Jack!" She dashed away with a smile on her face, and disappeared in the guest bedroom where Rose had went into a few minutes ago.

Jack was left standing there, making the kiss on his cheek linger. To him, that moment meant the world to him: his possible daughter showing him affection after all these years of him being alone, fragile, yet made of stone.

_When the ship docks, I'm getting off with you._

_This is crazy._

_I know. It doesn't make any sense. That's why I trust it._

Jack smiled at the memory.

For both Josephine and Jack – one not knowing about the other, the other looking for the one – they had pushed past the obvious answers and analyzed the impossible ones. Of course Jack was Josephine's father; they just couldn't admit it.

...

Josephine found Rose sprawled across the bed, still in her bathrobe. As she walked closer, she saw tear stains on her cheeks.

Josephine sighed. Her poor mother had been through so much trauma lately, and now she had cried herself to sleep! She knelt down and kissed her mother gently on the cheek, remembering how she had done the same for her when she was younger.

_And this is for keeping away the bad dreams,_ she would say.

_But I honestly know that the angels will keep you safe,_ she would add.

Josephine held tears back her eyes. She had cried enough today. She was now getting overwhelmed by thoughts of the past, when the future is what really mattered. Yet, when she began to unpack their belongings, she felt like something had changed inside her mother, inside her soul. It was as though she no longer was the loving, gentle, caring person Josephine had known growing up. It was as though...

_No! _Josephine shook her head and refused to think such things. Her mother still loved her, didn't she? Of course Josephine had seen the look on her mother's face when she called her by her first name; that meant she cared.

Once she had banished such thoughts from her mind and finished unpacking, she felt as though something was missing. Shrugging that off, Josephine noticed that Rose had left a simple, white nightgown on the soft chair in the corner. She glanced at Rose, who showed no signs of waking soon, and decided to put it on for herself. After all, she no longer wanted to be wearing these old rags she called stylish.

The gown was cool and comfortable, but a little big. To Josephine, though, it was everything she'd dreamed for! Something clean, nice, and chic. She felt content just wearing it.

Sighing happily, she crawled into bed next to Rose and turned off the lamp light. _I wonder what's in store for us tomorrow... _she thought as sleep overtook her.

...

Meanwhile, Cal was enjoying a hot beverage while staring out the window, still in his day clothes. The things he had learned that late morning had left him awake and sleepless. He thought about Rose, her illness, and something else he forgot entirely.

Eleanor appeared at the doorway in her nightgown. She was clearly exhausted, but still huffed over her husband's anxious thoughts. "Cal, darling," she drawled, her eyes drooping. "Please do come to bed. It's late and tomorrow you have a busy day."

She came up behind him and put her arms around his shoulders. He didn't respond. "You have time to worry about this some other time. For right now, get some rest. Remember your speech tomorrow? You'll be quite busy."

Cal sighed and nodded, remembering quite well the next couple, busy weeks. "She has it, Eleanor."

Eleanor unwrapped her arms and stared at him, confused. "Has what, darling? If this is about the—"

He interrupted her, his lip twitching. He clearly didn't want to hear it. "Not _that_, my dear." His tired, wrinkled forehead was taut. "The diamond."

…

The next morning, Josephine woke up to the smell of freshly roasted coffee and the fragrance of roses. Yawning, she stretched her arms and looked around the room. Rose was no longer next to her. The vanity had been used; a brush with red hairs stuck in the bristles lay on the table, and dresser drawers had been thrown open. Josephine wondered: what could they possibly have that made Rose tear apart the room like this?

Walking towards the door, she was just about to turn the knob when she heard... Was that laughing? She put her ear to the door and listened.

It was Rose's laughter, something she knew very well because she rarely heard it. She then heard her voice say, "Oh, Jack, you really didn't have to."

"Just take them as a welcome back gift."

"And what about you? I should welcome you back, shouldn't I?"

"No need to... You're here, and that's enough for me."

Rose's laugh again. When they both had quieted down, she heard Jack say, "So, tell me about Josie."

"Josie?" Josephine replayed this one word in her mind, and no doubt it was Rose's voice that had said it. Hurt spread across her heart: did her own mother really just say that?

There was silence. Neither said anything. Finally, Jack said, "Yes, Josephine. I call her Josie, and she told me you used to call her that when she was little."

More silence. The smell of the coffee made Josephine's mouth water, but she couldn't break the conversation just yet.

"Well, she was born on January fifteenth of 1913. She's my biological daughter." Rose stopped there for a second. "Why do you want to know?"

There was a pause, and in Josephine's mind she pictured a moment of hesitation. "Well, we're going to be a family now, right?"

Josephine couldn't bear to hear anymore. This was not her mother! Never had she heard her mother talk as she did now, nor say it in such a passion. That's when she noticed the silence.

There was no reply to Jack's comment. Minutes ticked by. Josephine began to worry, and wondered what was going on in there. She was going to open the door, when she heard a crash, but no voices. Then came the sound of the Rose she did know, a trembling voice that said, "I've changed, Jack."

There came Jack's soothing, pacifying voice saying, "I love you no matter what, Rose. Remember what I said that night? I said that all of this was crazy, and you agreed and said that that's why you trusted it."

Josephine made up a scenario in her head. She pictured Rose crying, backing away slowly from Jack, when his hand goes for her cheek and he cradles her with his words. They stare into each other's eyes longingly, remembering their burning passion for one another, then Rose would say-

"There is no future for us, Jack. I'm sorry, but... my life is with Josephine now."

Josephine was stunned. Did Rose really just say that? _Was she really her life?_ She definitely didn't feel like it was! Before she could move away from the door, she felt a startling pain run up her forehead and make her eyes blur. "Oh, Josephine!" came her mother's voice, and she felt a smooth hand rub her forehead gently. The other went through her hair.

Josephine didn't notice the tears until she saw Rose's expression. It was plastered with hurt, longing, love, and anger. She fell into her mother's awaiting arms, and cried out tears until she felt her arms being pushed away. Rose had gotten up and taken Josephine forcefully by the hand, annoyance flashing in her breath-taking green eyes.

"What did I tell you about eavesdropping?" she said, giving Josephine's palm a painful squeeze. She flinched but showed no reaction to her mother's outburst. "Why do you have to be such a curious child?" She began to cry again. "Why did you ever have to bring _him_ back into my life?" She turned away so quickly, Josephine stumbled when her mother's hand let go of her hers. She rubbed it gently to take away the pain the nail marks left after digging into her skin.

Steadying herself, Josephine's lips went straight and her expression monotone. "I did it for you, Rose," she said. "I brought him back because I thought you needed someone to warm that cold heart of yours!"

She stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut, locking herself in the bathroom without replying to Jack's words. "What's going on, Josephine?"

She locked herself in the bathroom and refused to come out for two hours. The first time Jack became concerned, he knocked tenderly on the door and said, "Are you okay in there, Josie?"

Josephine didn't respond.

The next person who came knocking at the door surprised her. It was Rose's voice, and it sounded strangled from guilt. "Josephine, honey, can we please talk?"

But she still didn't open the door, not even after she thought she heard Rose whimper. It took her all her strength to be mad at her, and even though she didn't like it, she didn't want to give herself up and fall back into her mother's arms. No, she was tired of Rose's strange behavior!

While Josephine pouts and holds a grudge, let me give you further detail on what had happened that morning. Rose, for reasons unknown, had thrown the fresh bouquet of rose flowers in a glass vase given to her by Jack on the floor, causing it to break. Apparently, something in Jack's words ("...we're going to be a family, right?") had bothered her, and so she reacted intensely to calm herself. In other words, throwing tantrums helps relieve something irritating your mind, not that it's a good habit to get into. And as Rose did that, something clicked in Jack's head: she was denying emotion. So, that must mean something happened to Rose dramatically that made her like this. But what is that reason? I'll be honest, I cannot read Rose's mind at that moment. It's nearly impossible.

Anyway, let's continue on with our story.

The very last time someone knocked on the bathroom door that day, it had coaxed Josephine out. It was Rose _and_ Jack.

There came a gentle knock on the door. "Josephine, darling?" came Rose's voice. After no response, she heard a murmured, "You try." She listened carefully to each word, her ears piqued. The next words came from Jack. "Listen, Josie, your mother and I want to speak to you, but if you don't want to come out, it's fine. We can talk like this."

Josephine put her ear to the door to listen better, but didn't open her mouth.

"Do you want to start?" she heard Jack whisper. She pictured Rose nodding, because she said, "Josephine, I know I've been hard on you. With the whole not-answering-your-questions thing. The truth is, I want the very best for you, and the things you were asking could affect the way you thought of me or even... yourself."

Josephine made no move to stop them nor speak. She heard Rose sigh, and she said, "Ask me anything and I'll answer truthfully."

Jack and Rose both waited, holding their breaths, for Josephine's reply. There came the sound of a doorknob twisting, and a head poked out of the small crack of the now-open door.

"Promise?"


	11. Truth

_**Chapter 10: Truth**_

Rose gulped, sweat appearing on her brow. She began to shake, and the perspiration made her thinking no better. "I promise," she choked out, and she closed her eyes to keep Josephine and Jack from seeing the pain that flashed in them.

Josephine stepped out of the bathroom, content by her mother's words. Today was the day she'll be learning about everything! Rose's past, who her father was... Though she already had a very strong inkling (no doubt about it) who he _is_.

Jack took Rose's arm, as though she was invalid at the moment. The small family walked to the couch, where Josephine sat down, and Jack and Rose pulled up two chairs. Rose sighed. She was ready whenever her daughter was.

But first, Josephine noticed the shattered vase on the floor along with a small bouquet of rose flowers, as I mentioned before. _This must've been what made the crashing noise!_ She cringed when she thought of the conversation, how Jack had only been nice and Rose had ruined his spirits. She then returned to the current topic at hand.

Josephine thought for a moment. What should she ask first? Thoughtfully, she decided her mother's past was the biggest mystery to her; she already had an idea (remember, no doubt about it!) who her father might be. "Tell me about your past," Josephine said, calmly and nicely.

It wasn't a forceful question like Rose thought it might be. Instead, it was a kindly approached command. Rose gulped. She looked at Jack for support, took a deep breath, and began her story.

"I was born to Charles Bukater and Ruth DeWitt of the Philadelphia DeWitt Bukaters on August eighteenth, 1895. I grew up with maids, riches, endless dolls, and expensive dresses. My daily educational life was spent learning how to properly walk, curtsy, and eat at the dinner table. I would go through which eating utensil to use first, then move on to how to hold a tea cup. It was terribly boring, but I got through it. My father loved me very much, and would excuse me from my lessons to take me to a carnival or someplace fun. Each night he would read me a story of princes, princesses, fair knights, and maidens before I went to bed.

"When I was fifteen, my father died from a prolonged illness. His death was inevitable, of course, and I spent those last few days knowing he will no longer be with me, so I talked with him about all the memories we had together. I wanted him to pass into the other world knowing his daughter loved him very much. When he died a month later, I was left with my mother... Who, and Jack knows this very well, was nothing like my father.

"I don't know why they got married. For name or fortune, I guess. The day Father died, I was greeted into my adult life with cold eyes and proper manners. I never talked much to my mother during my childhood, so we weren't very close. I was guessing the reason she was so upset was because my father had left us in debt with barely a penny to spend.

"I was too young to marry. I was only fifteen! Yet, Mother searched for a proper husband for me, someone with a title and fortune, and brought one home one day. His name was Caledon Hockley, of the Hockley Steel Companies. He had so much money, Mother whispered to me the night I met him, he could live five generations and never go broke..."

Josephine was stunned. Her mother was engaged to _Caledon Hockley? _She hid her shock with a question. "Doesn't Mr. Hockley do those programs for the poor?" she asked, remembering the paper her mother had been reading when she asked her about the Jane Austen book.

Rose nodded. "Yes. I never did accept money from him, though. I couldn't after… what happened.

"Anyway," she continued, "by the time I turned seventeen, I _was_ old enough to marry. I was engaged to Cal at my seventeenth birthday party, to my distaste. I was trapped now, you see. I only wanted to be free. I didn't like the whole idea of social statuses, nor did I like how names and titles made up a person. I was tired of endless parties, cotillions, and frilly dresses... I only wished for one thing that day: freedom.

"As the months went on, the wedding was planned without my consent. I didn't care. I wasn't thinking of the wedding at all; instead, I was thinking of my escape. Then, there came news one chilly March morning, and it made my heart drop.

"Cal, my mother, and I were to leave England, where we were living at that time, and move back home to Pennsylvania for the wedding. But that's not what concerned me, it was the ship's name that did..." Rose gulped and stopped talking. Nervously, she looked up at Josephine and said, "Maybe it's better if we stop here today."

Josephine glared at her mother. "No!" she exclaimed in a demanding tone that made Rose a little scared. "You promised me!"

Rose sighed. She did, didn't she? "Oh, yes, I did," she said sourly. "Like I was saying, we boarded the _Titanic _on April tenth of 1912, traveling first class in one of the two millionaires' suites. I was nervous about being on a ship's maiden voyage, but I'm not a conspiracy theorist. By that point, I felt like I was going insane. I didn't want to go through with this marriage, nor did I want to move back to America. I loved England, where my friends and family that loved me were, where now I was stuck with my cruel mother and conceited fiancé. It was a time of depression for me. So, on the third day of sailing, April twelfth, I... decided to escape.

"I thought that any world was better than this. I thought of being reunited with my father earlier than expected, and so when I was running - just trying to get away - on the deck, I came to a stop at the back of the ship. There was nothing else anymore, just water... So I took a step over the railing, then another. I was getting ready to jump, when I heard someone say, 'Don't do it.' I turned around, anger and fear printed on my face. He'd ruined my suicide mission and also shown me care, which I hadn't seen in awhile. He eventually convinced me not to do it... He was of lower status, you see... And when I introduced myself to him, he replied and said his name was Jack Dawson..."

Josephine glanced at Jack. His eyes were closed, probably reliving the tale. Meanwhile, Rose's eyes were filling with tears. "I slipped when I tried to climb back over, and would've fallen if Jack hadn't been brave enough to risk his own life to pull me back over. Cal came with the Master-at-Arms, and to get Jack out of arrest I lied to them, saying that I was looking at the propellers when I slipped and Jack had saved me. Jack was invited to dine with us the next night – though, now that I think about it, I believe it was my mother and Cal's intention to humiliate Jack. Anyway, in the morning, I talked to him about how sorry and thankful I was. I was being stupid, and he had saved my life before my mistake took it. We talked the rest of the day... You know, something new friends do... Learn about each other.

"When it was time for dinner, I was having a great time with Jack. If you want to know, we were spitting – long story – over the side of the ship, which is when Mother decided to appear and get her first impression of him. Obviously, she didn't like him. She and Cal did their best to keep me away from him, but it wasn't possible. By that point, we were too good of friends to just leave each other's lives and start anew. I realized that at dinner the same night, when Jack came to dine with us. In this tricky way of his, everything he said was directed to me, but only I understood it. Later on, he took me to a party in third class.

"It was the most fun I'd had in years. I felt free for once. Did you ever wonder, Josephine, how you got your name? Well, Jack and I had this song we enjoyed singing a lot, titled 'Come Josephine, In My Flying Machine.' When you were born, it was obvious to me what your name would be. Anyway, the next day Cal got angry at me for going down to the lower decks. He said he didn't want me to see Jack again, nor do such preposterous things. Mother said the same thing later on, so when Jack came to see me by hiding on the boat deck during a boring tour of the ship, I knew what was expected of me as he took me into the gymnasium.

"He tried to say something, something about how he was involved now. Eventually, it became obvious to me what he was doing. He was confessing! I wished I could've done the same with him, but I lied and said I loved Cal. I then told him I never wanted to see him again, and he should leave me alone. Of course, I was crying, and of course, he knew I was lying. But, he understood my words when I didn't. He stayed away from that point.

"Later on, the words I said came to mind. I knew they weren't true, and I probably should've never been so harsh to Jack. But what could I have done? I was being threatened by my own mother and fiancé, and so I didn't defy their rules. That's when I also realized I didn't want to be a puppet on strings, and broke away from the laws of society and met Jack on the bow of the ship, where we shared our first kiss.

"He taught me how to fly, in a way. You just get up on the railing and spread your arms, and it really does feel like you're soaring in the air. He sang that same song to me. What was I to do? Deny him again? No, it was obvious by then that I was not going back.

"After some, um… _daring _situations, I told him that night I was to get off the ship with him. We had been chased around by Lovejoy, Cal's servant, and done some risky things, but we didn't care. He told me that was crazy, and I told him that's why I trusted it. That's when the iceberg struck.

"It was a nightmare. Jack and I had been torn apart by one of Cal's tricks: he framed Jack for stealing a priceless diamond he gave me-"

"The Heart of the Ocean?" Josephine added, remembering the blue jewel.

"Yes... And I actually believed him! I was heartbroken. Did Jack really use me to get to my money? Later on, when my mother was boarding a lifeboat, I realized I was wrong. He never did it, and he never would. I broke free from Cal's grasp and I knew I had to find Jack below decks, where water was already rising. Let me tell you, Josephine, the cold... So cold, I was afraid of freezing in my place. Yet I went on, and found him. Let me tell you, an axe is a very helpful object in a time of need.

"After freeing him, we went through many troubles... Locked gates, rising water, almost being separated again... There came a point where Jack convinced me to get in a lifeboat. Cal was there, as well, giving me his coat to show that he cared when he didn't at all. I fell for Jack's pleads, and as the lifeboat descended, I found my heart throbbing, and tears coming to my eyes. What if he died? What happened to our inseparable bond? Jumping out, we were reunited at the staircase, where I knew that that bond never was broken.

"'You jump, I jump, remember?' It was something Jack came up with after I tried to jump off the ship. We were chased back down by Cal, who had a gun, and again had to find a way to escape the bowels of the sinking ship. By the time we reached the deck, all the boats were gone, and the only thing we could do is stay on until the very end...

"We took each other's hands and vowed to hold on as the ship disappeared beneath the ocean. The suction, however, pulled us apart. But when we found each other, we also found a piece of debris. We both tried to get on, but..." Rose began to sob. "There was only enough for one person. Jack risked his life for mine. He stayed in the water. He tried to joke around to make me feel better. I expected the worst, and dreaded what would become of us. As a way of saying goodbye, I told Jack I loved him, and he made me promise that I would not die that night. He never promised he wouldn't, though. So when a lifeboat came back, I tried to wake him, but he never did. I wanted to stay there to die with him, but remembered his promise. I thought I had seen him for the last time when he slipped under the water, but that's when you were born, nine months later."

Josephine was amazed at this story. It sounded like a fairytale! Could it possibly be the truth? By the look in Jack and Rose's eyes, she knew it was. Rose's eyelids have closed and she had her head down, feeling like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. When Josephine didn't say anything, she asked, "Do you think differently of me now, Josephine?"

Josephine blinked. What _did _she think? She thought the story was outstandingly romantic. But what did she think of her mother? What kind of answer was she expecting?

She slowly nodded her head. "A little bit, I guess, but not in a bad way." Then she rethought her answer. "Well, I guess I'm a tiny bit upset with you still about why you never told me till now. But I'm not _that_ upset."

Silence. Josephine opened her mouth to get the answer to the question she was still confused about. "I think I know the answer, but… Who is my father? You haven't answered that one... _clearly_ enough, and it must sound like a silly question but..." She stopped and blushed, realizing the stupidity.

Rose looked up at her, lip quivering. Calming herself, she said, "When the rescue ship docked, I knew Rose DeWitt Bukater had died on the _Titanic_. On the survivors' list, you won't see my maiden name, but you will see a Rose Dawson. I took his name that day, and vowed to keep it the rest of my life. I was no longer the rich girl I once was."

Josephine sighed. Her strong, almost certain, suspicions were correct. Her father was Jack. Sniffling, Rose said, "Do you think differently of yourself?"

Josephine had to think hard about this one. I mean, the news was shocking, but it didn't make her angry or upset. "No, it's pretty much the same." Rose sighed in relief. Something was irritating Josephine, even though she said she wasn't that upset. "But it does make me wonder why you kept this from me so many years." She got up and walked away, leaving Rose sputtering for words.

Josephine knew everything now. Why had her mother kept such secrets locked away from her? _Was she honestly afraid of the truth hurting me, or was she just protecting her identity?_

Yet, through her anger, Josephine smiled.


	12. Silence

_**Chapter 11: Silence**_

For the minutes that passed between Jack and Rose, all that could be heard was Rose's sniffling after she had cried during her dramatic tale. They sat like that for what seemed like ages before anyone spoke up. Jack's eyes kept darting to Rose, to the closed guest room door, and to Rose again, just thinking how big of a mess their lives had become. Rose, however, was staring off at nothing, deep in reverie. She had just told her daughter everything she wanted to know, and that was all she had left to offer her daughter: that story. Her daughter knew everything up from that point. Well, _mostly _everything...

"Well," Rose said, her shaky voice breaking the silence. "That was..." She paused and looked down at the floor. "Hard."

Jack put his hand over Rose's on the arm of the chair. She still didn't look up, even to check and make sure his warm, comforting touch was actually there. She still stared straight at the floor, at nothing, in her state of contemplation again. Frowning, Jack realized how strange Rose had been acting since they found each other.

Again, he had lost her to her thoughts.

He felt the smoothness of her creamy skin under his fingertips, then he let his hand drop. The silence continued through the still air. Jack squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, aching for a better position. His back ached from all the sitting he's done that day, and his arm was bruised from Rose's hard grip earlier before. Sighing quietly to himself, he closed his eyes and dreamed. The silence was enough to put him to sleep.

He thought of Rose and his life before _Titanic._ He had traveled to so many places, his hands meeting different types of work. In Paris, he had merely used his hands for drawing; in some city off the coast of Greece, he worked on a fishing boat in the Mediterean. In Rome, he had met his friend Fabrizio, and they had both worked by moving boxes and cleaning a restarunt. If they were lucky enough, they'd be able to get some scrumpious leftovers as a treat for a hard day's work.

But even through all the time Jack spent earning a living, he still found time to draw. It was his passion, practically his soul. He never settled down and never found the need to; until he met Rose, of course. The first time her smooth hand met his calloused ones, an electric spark was united between them.

He wasn't the kind to believe in love at first sight. Yet, there was something aboutRose from the start where he felt…attracted to her. It was almost as if they shared some clandestine bond where everything they said was soaked up in their childish brains.

Yes, they were young; yes, some of their decisions could be questioned. As Jack looked back on it, he analyzed his deep thoughts from when he was an experienced twenty-year old to a now, a wiser thirty-seven-year old.

_God, she is amazing,_ he thought when she fell into his arms after standing on her toes – shoeless. Of course, they were tipsy and drunk from cheap steerage beer, but that confession lingered on in his head even after the hangover was gone. He remembered that moment very well…

Meanwhile, Rose was reminiscing rapidly of many things at once. First, her father's funeral played back in her head, slowly and mechanicly, exactly as she felt the day he died; second, her courtship to Cal, and how she actually thought a marriage was exciting and hopeful; third, of when she first met Jack, and their first kiss; and lastly, of when she disembarked from the _Carpathia_, ignorant and alone.

_Rose wandered the streets, unaware of her surroundings and clueless to where she was headed. It was a quarter 'til midnight when she saw him, the shadowy figure in the distance._

_In a haze she had led herself down an alley in the poorer part of the city, without a care in the world. All she could think about was Jack, Jack, Jack. His hands, his lips, his corpse plummeting down, down, down…_

_Lips trembling, she was about to let out a cry when something – or some_one _– provoked her to. Letting out a muffled scream, her eyes widened in fear when she felt the cool metal of a pocketknife against her dry throat._

"_Empty your pockets and I'll let you go unharmed," a raspy voice said, beginning to poke and prod in her coat pocket. Fearing her safety and her identity, Rose began to panic; if he found the priceless necklace which Cal had left in his pocket (and then unknowingly on Rose) she wouldn't be so safe anymore._

_Struggling, she managed to slip his hand away for a small second. In that amount of time, she was able to let out an unknowingly strong scream. "Fire!" she yelled, remembering what her old cook Edith taught her._

"_If you ever find yourself in the bad parts of town, Rose, just remember: Scream 'fire,' not 'help'!" the humble old hag would chant. Rose would take her words of wisdom and repeat them over and over, as though she would use them. Up until she met Jack she never would've imagined using her street knowledge, but since he entered her life, her intelligence was finally able to come to some use._

_All of a sudden, a muscular pair of hands pulled the thief off of Rose. She immediately collapsed, shaken, on the stone floor, ready to cry. There were grunts and groans, and then all noise stopped. Her watery eyes refocused and she saw the silhouettes of two men: one standing triumphant and offended, the other crumpled on the damp ground._

"_Sewer rat!" the standing silhouette spat, kicking the groaning figure. Rose's breathing started to race rapidly, and that's when the man finally remembered her presence. He knelt down beside her and asked concernedly, "Are you all right?"_

_Rose felt her stomach go sour, and she managed to squeak out "I—" when at that moment, her head became dizzy. With a retching motion, she promptly threw up the contents of her mainly empty stomach. Groaning, the man put an arm around her shoulder and helped her up. _

_She couldn't remember the rest, other than his soothing, calming voice and her feet dragging along. She remembered tripping on a set of stairs, and then a woman's soft hand placed on the small of her back._

"_Oh, you poor thing!" she exclaimed, horrified. Her name was Adeline Thayer, and her teenage son Alec was the one who had saved her. "Let's get you upstairs."_

_Once in bed, Rose felt more comfortable than she had in days. Adeline brought her a bowl of warm soup with a slice of bread on the side. Rose ate hungrily, forgetting her emptied stomach. A cool glass of water was set down on the nightstand, and she grabbed for it and drank thirstily. She had practically turned into an animal._

_Falling into a deep sleep, she awoke to Alec's golden boy features shaking her shoulder gently. "It's time for dinner," she comprehended, but she still hadn't regained the strength to live; she was still mourning Jack's death, along with the fifteen hundred other souls lost._

_After eating, but this time much less animalistic, Alec pulled up a chair and gazed at her with serious, hazel eyes. "What's your name?" he asked._

"_Rose," she croaked out, her eyes brimming with tears._

_Little did she know that a month from now she would learn she was with Jack's child, and her whole life would no longer be the same._

Before Jack (or anyone) knew it, Rose was spilling tears in her hands.

Jack, immediately concerned, practically jumped out of the chair and knelt in front of her, putting both of his hands on hers. "What is it, Rose?" he asked in his most calming voice. "Please tell me what's wrong."

"_I didn't mean to hurt anybody! God, I didn't even know! Do you honestly think I expected it?"_

That's what Rose wanted to say, the memory flickering in her mind. Instead, she looked up, her eyes bloodshot from her tears. Sniffling, she said something in a voice so quiet, Jack had to strain his ears to catch the words that spilled from her confessing lips. "Josephine, she... We've been having some mother-daughter issues lately."

Jack stared into her wet, green eyes, which were struggling with inner conflicts. Jack moved both of Rose's hands away from her face and squeezed them gently. He smiled weakly at her, and said, "Rose, it's just a phase. Josephine will realize what you've done for her. She knows everything now. It will all end soon."

Rose shivered. _It will all be over soon._ She had heard those words before, and they seemed like such a long time ago...

_She clung on to him with as much strength she could muster, hanging on to life and death by a shoestring. The entire ship had rose high above the water now, threatening to kill all the souls aboard._

_Her eyes roamed around in panic. She caught sight of a woman with a young child in her eyes, crying, "It'll all be over."_

_A strangling lump formed in her throat; her mind became numb as the full reality of the situation hit her. Closing her eyes, she fell into his comforting embrace and buried her head in his shirt. _

_They were both frozen to the core._

Changing the topic, Rose looked away from Jack's eyes and said, her hair partially covering her face, "Do you know how long I've waited for you, Jack? And you never came?"

She pushed away from Jack's embrace, but not forcefully. In a smaller, quieter voice, she added, "Do you know what it's like to be left alone in a world you hardly recognize anymore?" She started sobbing once again.

Jack couldn't do anything but watch. He felt the pain of his loneliness the past seventeen years tug at his heartstrings... If only she knew how long and hard he'd searched for her, but came up empty-handed and, of course, with a broken heart!

Rose had her hands curled up into fists which began to shake badly. She was having another conflict within her, a desire she so wished to have but knew it would only make matters worse. She struggled with herself a little more before Jack saw her muscles relax and her hands fall into her lap, tears in them.

Jack gasped and put his index finger on her palm, where a cluster of tears lay. Except, instead of a pool of salty, clear water, it was stained red. Jack looked up to see Rose had bit her lip, and tears still clouded her eyes.

"Rose!" he exclaimed, alarmed. He grabbed a tissue and started dabbing at her mouth. "What did you do that for?"

Rose never answered. She just sat there, admiring his concern for her, and continued trying to banish the thoughts she had had that caused her so much struggle and lunacy. She had bit her lip in the process of her endeavor, and had barely noticed the pain because the one in her head made her cringe and scream.

She wanted to yell the truth to him like the madwoman she was. Maybe the reality was better than living in her ocean of secrets, but she didn't know that answer for certain. Maybe they should all stop trying to live in the past that had never fully mended the broken hearts it had caused and embrace the inevitable future.

Rose gulped and felt her lip. It had stopped bleeding, and a shiver traveled down her spine, something that was always the outcome of his stare. She glanced at Jack and saw his curious eyes on her. He still held the bloody tissue, and was examining her with his piercing gaze. She forced herself to look away from the stare, and smiled. That look reminded her of the day she had first seen him, staring at her from the lower decks. It was a good memory, something she can sigh romantically about, nothing bad. Both continued the silence for a little bit longer.

"Jack," Rose finally croaked, causing Jack to jump from the broken air around them. She noticed, but pretended she didn't. "You never told me how _you_ survived."

Jack stared into the same nothingness Rose had before, and glanced at the floor while saying, "Thank God I had woken up right after I began to drown, otherwise I would be a dead man right now."

Rose paled. It made her newly tanned complexion the same pigment it had been years ago. However, with the dirt and grime that had covered it all these years, it was barely considered a change in skin tone. Jack smiled to himself, but didn't want to hurt Rose any more than she already was, and so didn't show it.

"When I surfaced, I called. My voice was weak and rough, but it was enough to make the lifeboat turn around and come back. I was plopped right in with the other survivors, where I slept in the back next to someone hiding in a green, plaid blanket..."

Rose's eyes widened. The two stared at each other as realization hit them both. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed a mouthful of times until she was able to conceive words. "W-we were next to each other the whole time, and neither knew it..."

Jack nodded, clearly not as shocked as Rose was. "Amazing how one mistake can lead to a billion others, isn't it?"


	13. Bond

_**Chapter 12: Bond**_

Josephine had her ear against the door, listening to her parents' conversation. She heard Rose whisper, "You don't know how true those words are."

Her heart was thumping to the point she thought it might burst. Everything was put on her all at once, and she felt lightheaded by the turn of events. It was all so sudden, so unexpected. She thought of her never speaking to her mother again due to her never knowing the story of her past... Now, it was all back to normal. Yet, something stirred the air... Something that made it seem _wrong_. Josephine couldn't put her finger on what it was.

She retreated from the door on the balls of her feet to make it seem like she was never there. She could only hear the thumping of her heart and the blood racing in her ears as she dashed to sit on the vanity chair, taking the brush in her shaky hands, and began combing through her unruly curls. At that precise moment, Rose opened the door, her blue-green irises poring into her daughter's eyes through the vanity mirror. She looked away, deep in thought as she cautiously walked across the wooden floor and took the brush from Josephine's hands, gently and carefully prying it from her fingers.

Josephine showed no sign of clasping on to the brush and pulling it back, so Rose began brushing her blonde tresses for her. Moments of silence overlapped over another, and another, until it became overwhelming. Josephine, uncomfortable, shifted around in the cushioned seat, blinking at her mother's reflection in the mirror.

Rose had never smiled for such a long period of time in Josephine's short, sixteen years. She brushed over a curl more than a few times and then moved on to the next, as though she was making sure she was really Jack's daughter. Then, she would blink her eyes rapidly, her once-wet irises with the overwhelming green color dried off. It was with longing how Rose had wanted to brush her daughter's hair like this in a plush room, with all the love she had shown on her face. However, whenever she looked at Josephine, it was colder than the warmness she wanted to feel. Sighing silently to herself, Rose continued brushing, gulping the despairing feeling in the back of her throat.

"I know you're upset," she finally said, locking her shimmering green eyes with Josephine's own. "I should've told you everything a long time ago. I always thought the truth would hurt, but-"

"I understand," Josephine interrupted, smiling at her mother. "It's no longer a problem."

When her mother put down the brush, Josephine let her fingers linger in her hair. It was soft, and had no tangles whatsoever. Smiling to herself, she saw her plump, pink lips curve upwards into a grin, and for once in her life she saw how truly pretty she was.

Rose had sat down on the bed, smiling back at her daughter through the glass. "It was something I used to think a lot about," she said, sighing loudly.

"What?"

"Beauty." Rose got up and walked back to the vanity, grabbing the brush and letting it run through her own red locks. Her green eyes sparkled, and her smile was mischievous. "Did I ever tell you what made your father notice me in the first place?"

Josephine blinked and raised an eyebrow. "Well, you were sobbing and running into things on the deck of a ship. If that's not obvious, I don't know what is." She rolled her eyes like an average teenager.

Rose dramatically sighed and made her expression seem like she was thinking of a pleasurable thought. "Actually, he first caught sight of me when I was casually looking out at the ocean. Kind of like-"

"Love at first sight," Josephine finished.

Rose nodded, the smile still on her face. "Exactly." Slowly, her loving smile faltered. "Back then I thought I was doing the right thing, running away with Jack like I wanted to. I believed I was so smart. It wasn't until later on that I questioned our short love affair." She put the brush down and studied her left hand intently, avoiding her daughter's eyes.

"Someone once told me you will never forget your first love," Josephine whispered, remembering a time when she was little and her mother would tell her bedtime stories where the princess fell in love, only to lose him and fall in love again, but just not as passionately.

Rose's chest rose and fell with her irregular breathing. Tears were threatening to spring from her eyes and cascade down her cheeks. "I wonder why I would even dare wonder if things had been different," she finally confessed, chewing Josephin's words over. "I would tell myself that what I had done was a mistake, only to feel guilty about it later on. Then I'd look at you, so innocent and ignorant, and I would start to cry because I _still do _question my past." She sighed angrily, tapping her fingernails on the vanity table and swore under her breath. "Sometimes I think I used Jack as a way to indirectly slap my fiancé in the face."

Josephine, unable to think of the right words, closed her mouth and said nothing.

All of a sudden, Rose's eyes lit up. "Um, Josephine...?" Her lips twitched as she tried to stay calm.

"Yes?" Josephine said, her eyes flickering up to her mother's. They were full of inquisitive anxiety. "What's wrong?"

Rose shook her head slightly, and her eyes were full of anger. Pulling up Josephine's old pillowcase, she snapped, "Where is the Heart of the Ocean?"

Josephine paled. "What do you mean?" she squeaked, though she knew exactly where it was.

Rose's eyes were flaming with fury. "I mean, where is the priceless necklace?"

Josephine gulped, and closed her eyes in fear. "Uh... Under the floorboards at our old apartment?" She heard Rose storm out of the room before opening her eyes again. She saw the door slam against the wall and bounce on its hinges before she followed her mother out of the room.

"Jack!" Rose yelled, her voice clearly not hiding her emotions. "We've got a big problem."

Jack looked up from the newspaper he was reading, intimidated by Rose's tone. "What is it, Rose?"

Rose gave Josephine a death glare and put her hand on her hip. "Our daughter here forgot the Heart of the Ocean."

Josephine began to panic. So _that_ was why their room was torn apart this morning: Rose was looking for the priceless diamond her ex-fiancé had given her years ago! Her voice shook as she said, "I-I forgot about it, t-that's all." Glancing at Rose, her heart practically stopped by the crazed look in her eyes. "Um, J-Jack? Do you mind coming with me to get the diamond?" Rose's stare was strangely creepy, and a shiver went down her spine.

Jack's gaze landed on Rose. Only he was able to see the burning confliction of emotions zapping her brain. She looked so delicate at the moment, but it was hidden by her ferocity. Licking his lips, he broke the stare with Rose and folded up his newspaper, nodding. "Of course, Josie."

He got up and they walked out of the apartment, but not before seeing Rose bite her lip in frustration. Exiting the room, he and Josephine pretended not to hear the scream that pierced the walls after the door closed shut behind them.

...

Cal sighed and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted. Since he learned of Rose's appearance in New York, his mind was in combat over his present family and life and his regretful past. He hadn't found Rose's name in the giant book of residents, so he came to the conclusion that she was living with _him_.

However, when Cal passed by the apartment complex Jack currently lived in, his muddled mind only became more confused. It was a well-kept, middle-class building. The last time he saw Jack all the way back in April of 1912, he said that he'd been living off of God's good humor, sleeping under a bridge included. And by Rose's unclean face, he assumed she was not living in something so proper.

All of a sudden, the stuffy cab he had hired to take him back to the Waldorf Astoria made him feel claustrophobic. He commanded the driver to stop, saying he needed some fresh air instead. Trembling, Rose's haunting face appeared in front of his eyes, making them tear up. He took off his hat and rubbed his sweaty brow, feeling a migraine approaching.

He didn't mean to hurt her like he did. So maybe he had overreacted, flipping their breakfast table the morning before the ship hit the iceberg. Maybe he had overreacted by slapping her across the face like he did. But it was all because of that jealous monster that began to grow since her affair with Jack Dawson started.

_Affair_. Cal scowled at the word. Adultery was the sin Rose had committed, running around with Jack like the hormonal teenager she was. She had hawked up her spit and threw it in his face – literally. He had offered her everything she wanted, and she had still been unworthy with that vulgar drawing, and she still came back to the cabin looking disheveled with that peaceful look that was practically unnoticeable in her eyes, even with the seriousness of the situation. He knew exactly what they both had done, and he was furiously displeased with her disobedience.

So Jack Dawson thought he knew his fiancée so well? Well, Cal knew her, too, maybe even better. He could read her like an open book, especially at that moment when they disappeared and didn't come out for a whole hour. It was what had enraged him enough to slap her across the cheek, too angry to try and soothe her.

After all, she did believe her new lover had used her for her money. And the tearful look on her face still didn't comprehend in Cal's mind until a few minutes later.

Now, his heart felt heavy when he thought of that moment. She looked so fragile, so broken. Maybe she really _did_ love Jack. Maybe she did what she did to try and teach Cal what he was doing wrong. Yet, he didn't see it.

He scoffed at the thought of true love. Did it even exist these days? With the stock market and economy doing so well, money really could buy love. Marriages lasted a few months before they were broken. It was, after all, the Roaring Twenties, when everything goes.

At that moment, a flash of blond hair caught Cal's eye. He stopped in his tracks and saw two shadowy forms in the distance, crossing the street. He finally noticed his surroundings: the poor section of the city. He was somewhere around here earlier that day, dividing his stacks of bills into small, generous portions for the unfortunate families that lived there.

He watched with curiosity as the first figure became clear. It was definitely feminine, with long, blonde curls. The other was that of a man, almost sickly familiar. Cal's stomach clenched and churned.

The man looked strikingly like Jack Dawson.

Cal hid a chuckle when he saw the young girl's dark figure appear under the street light in front of an apartment complex which was falling apart. She reminded him of someone he knew a long time ago.

Deciding it was better to return home than pry on such painful memories, he turned around slowly, placing his hat back on his head. He reminded himself to check the apartment complex later, and quickly shoved every thought aside.

…

As they approached the crumbling building, Josephine's memories piqued her brain. She remembered skipping down this exact sidewalk, Rose laughing behind her, and then she had tripped and begun to cry. The next thing she remembered was Rose cradling her in her arms, telling her everything was all right and that it was just a small cut. Josephine had been six then.

They entered the old apartment complex, and as Jack asked the old woman at the front desk if it was all right if they looked at their old room, Josephine studied the lobby with great attention. _This is where I read my children's books when I was little,_ she thought, noticing the broken chair. _Mama would read them to me as I sat on her lap, and I told her I was ready to read by myself, and so that's what I did from then on._

Josephine moved to where a painting was hung on the wall. _I remember when this first made its way here. Mama had convinced the old lady at the front desk that the lobby needed some color, and so she had ordered with her own money a replica painting by Picasso. _They didn't have a meal that day, she remembered, but they enjoyed the beauty of the cubism piece of artwork while she sat in her lap.

The whole room was old, damp, and smelly, but it held so many memories for Josephine, she could've cared less about its state. She smiled at it, even though her nose wrinkled at the potent odor. Jack then motioned her over to the stairs, and they made their way up to their old apartment room.

When Josephine opened the door, she was welcomed by her old living room and kitchen. The furniture hadn't been moved, and a thin layer of dust covered the floor, though it had only been a couple of days. Jack asked her where the necklace was located, and she pointed to a spot in the floor and continued looking around the room.

_Ah, home,_ she thought, sitting down on the creaky couch. _Hasn't it always been? _And she continued to remember everything that she could about this apartment, the good times and the bad.

She heard Jack rip open the floorboards, and then the jingle of a heavy piece of jewelry. "Let's go home now, Josie," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

_Home? _Josephine thought, her eyebrows furrowing. _But we are home!_ Then she remembered that Jack had taken her away to live with him, and that this wasn't home at all anymore.

Taking Jack's hand, they walked out the door together. As Josephine closed it behind her, she sighed at the sight of the rooms, the place where she grew up. "Goodbye, Home," she whispered to herself so quietly, yet full of meaning. And she felt the knock of the door against its frame, and let go of the knob. There was no turning back now.

...

Rose was getting ready for bed when Josephine appeared with the Heart in hand. As she was pulling on an extra night gown she borrowed that day (Josephine took her original one), she was stunned still by Josephine's voice.

"Mama?"

Rose blinked, not believing the words that had come out of the girl's mouth. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry for being so mean to you."

Rose felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "It's all right," she whispered, though a smile was plastered on her face.

"It's just, it was hard for me at that time. I wanted to know, well, everything." Josephine laughed to herself as she made her way to where Rose's open arms were. She was pulled into a strong hug by her mother, silent tears slipping down both their cheeks. Sniffling, she mumbled, "I have the Heart, Mama."

Rose looked down at where the necklace laid in Josephine's palm. Taking it delicately with her fingers, she held Josephine closer. "Thank you, Josie. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Josephine began to cry more at her mother's words. "Mama, you called me Josie."

Rose chuckled. "I did, didn't I?" She rubbed Josephine's back soothingly. "You want me to call you that, don't you?"

Josephine nodded frantically. "Of course! You don't know how long it's been since you called me that, Mama."

Rose saw Jack's figure at the door and smiled at him. "A very good man told me that today," she said, and neither said a word the rest of the night.

...

The next morning, Josephine was the first up and about. She kept the night gown on, having nothing else to wear besides her old clothes, and blinked sleepily as she entered the living room. Sighing contently, she grabbed her book, plopped down on the couch, and read away.

Meanwhile, Rose was sleeping soundly in the bed she shared with Josephine. Her dreams were full of memories of Jack's touch, her life before, and what it could've been if Jack had found her. She rolled over on her back, and the sound of her slow breathing proved that she had an uneventful slumber.

At the same time Josephine had got up, Jack had been staring out the window of the apartment, his mind going over everything that had happened between the time he met Josephine to now. When it finally dawned on him that Rose was not leaving anytime soon, given her previous conditions, he smiled to himself and picked up his sketchbook, drawing again and again the woman of his dreams he thought would never come back to him.

The whole Dawson household was holding up pretty well since the small family had found each other, and since the chaos of last night. Little did all know that their perfect life was to be shattered by a deathly secret which will soon reveal itself in the time to come.


	14. Live and Love

**Author's Note: Throughout this edited version, if there is anything I never clarified on, like something I mentioned in the previous chapters but never mention again, I would love to be reminded of that. Also, if there is any confusing content, that'd be great, too.  
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_**Chapter 13: Live and Love  
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Josephine had just finished her reading, and was in a fit of tears about it, too, when Rose entered the living room, looking peaceful and relaxed. Blinking her blue-green irises, she didn't acknowledge Josephine as she made her way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Josephine, rubbing her dry eyes, stretched before following her mother into the kitchen to plan the day's activities.

"I was thinking, Mama," she said while taking two mugs out of the cupboard, "that since we don't have any decent clothes, we should go shopping."

Rose poured the hot liquid into two mugs, watching the steam rise from them before saying, "Now, Josephine, where will we get the money for that?"

Josephine cocked an eyebrow. "We have all that money in the box."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Josie, you _know _that's for emergencies only.".

"But what kind of emergency can we have now?" Josephine inquired.

Rose thought this over. "We worked so hard to earn that money, and for me it seems like a waste to spend it all on dresses. I don't know, it's just-" She faltered when she saw the glare on Josephine's face.

"Mama, we have _nothing_!"

So Rose agreed that spending a few of the crumbled dollars would do them some good, and out the door they went.

...

Meanwhile, Cal had tracked down the same apartment he had seen last night. He still clearly remembered the young girl in the darkness, only illuminated faintly by the street light, and who resembled Rose so much. He hid his scowl of disapproval as he entered the building, his hand making sure his pocket watch was still with him.

The old woman at the front desk, probably in her mid-fifties, looked up from whatever she was doing, her eyes squinting through spectacles that looked centuries old. Her eyebrows went up – creating even more wrinkles in her already-wrinkly forehead – when she saw the dollar signs illuminating off of Cal.

"Excuse me," he said kindly, though inside he was disgusted. "Does a Rose Dawson live here?"

The lady didn't say a word. She just put her index finger up in a sign of patience and flipped through a small book with its binding falling apart. "No," she snapped, her voice clearly accented with fading hints of New Jersey.

Cal's hopeful feeling of seeing Rose again faltered. "Has a Rose Dawson ever lived here?"

The woman sighed and opened up her book again as reference. "Yes, but you're too late, honey. She moved out a few days ago." Her shoulder-length hair showed signs of aging, even though it was cut in a bob years ago to celebrate the rebellious women known as flappers. Cal shuddered at that thought: Of some old woman who should _still _support the Prohibition and other conservative ways cutting her hair.

He smiled and tried to keep acting polite, even though he was tired of this ordeal. "Thank you," he said and walked out quickly, tipping his hat at the interesting woman before departing. Now it was time to move on to the next plan.

As he walked down the street deep in thought, he questioned Rose's own thoughts. _What did she find so interesting in living in such a crummy place? And what could it possibly offer for her?_

Thinking of Rose again brought up her displeased expressions when he dragged her to all the parties he thought they would enjoy. Seeing her sitting at a dinner table with that same desperate feeling which he remembered her by made his heart sag, and it was then that Caledon Hockley realized that Rose just wanted an escape.

…

"Do you think we have enough money for _both_ of us?" Josephine asked as her and Rose walked down the busy streets of New York in simple, borrowed dresses. She held the rusty, old box in her hands and was peering at the wads of cash inside. "It seems like enough for only one of our wardrobes..."

Rose wasn't planning on spending all the money. In fact, it was her intention to buy only a few dresses, and not a whole closet full. She was still annoyed and tired of all the riches she had in her previous life, and that was something she didn't want to relive.

"Mama?" Josephine eventually asked after realizing her mother was not acknowledging her question. She took Rose's arm gently, but firmly, in her hand.

Rose shook her head a little bit. Ever since Jack reentered her life, she'd been so caught up in memories, she barely noticed the voices directed to her. Clearing her throat, she said, "It'll do, Josie."

The chiming of a bell was heard as they entered a basic dress shop, stocked with shelves and rails of fabrics. A woman warmly smiled at them and walked over. "How may I help you?"

It was the first time in years Rose had been talked to so formally. Gulping, she said, "Yes, we're both looking for some simple, daytime dresses."

They looked around the abundant store, trying things on, laughing and complimenting each other as a few dresses turned into piles of colored cotton, and soon they both were going over their limit. As mother and daughter looked through their choices, declining and commenting some, Rose had had fun for the first time in a long while. She remembered what it was like to have friends by her side during her pregnancy, and how they all turned back on her when they realized she was never married and was poor as can be. It had crushed Rose's delicate heart more than it could handle, since the loss of Jack had strangled it so long and harshly. At that time, baby Josephine had grown ill, and Rose turned to conning for ways of easy, fast cash to buy the cure for her offspring, the only living memory she had of her dead lover. Her heart had turned dark when it came to people, and all her saved affections were only towards her beautiful daughter.

"_Tell me who he is!" he yelled, frustrated. And the whole time he thought they could've shared something special._

_Tears streamed down her eyes, one hand shielding her broken face. "I don't want to talk about it!" she cried, the situation becoming unbearable._

"_Then get out!" He shoved her, making her stumble and fall to the ground. Her elbow crashed into the table and started to bleed. Through her shock the tears had stopped falling, and she was suddenly conscious of everything._

_He wanted so badly to yell vulgar words at her, but then the kind old woman had stepped in, aware of the shouts and screams. She was angered and dumbfounded when she saw the surprised look on her son's face, turning sickly and pale. The young woman on the floor closed her eyes and started to sob again. The whole ordeal was unbelievable._

_She came rushing to the young woman's side, soothing her. "The cut's not too bad." Both pairs of feminine eyes caught the man's guilty expression as he sulked away, his back hitting the wall. The elderly pair moved back to the woman's abdomen, placing a wrinkled hand on it. "Do you think he's okay?"_

_The young woman was Rose, and her hand moved to her flat belly, rubbing it tenderly. She bit her lip and sniffled. "It's a girl," she croaked as Adeline Thayer helped her up. "I know for sure." _

_Her eyes caught his before she was led into the kitchen to shake away the violent past, and she could still remember the mixed emotions on Alec's face to this day._

"Mama, I had a great time today," Josephine's voice piped up as they walked out of the store with a couple dollars left in the box, knocking Rose out of her memories again. They each carried two large bags full of newly purchased gowns they would be wearing for some time. Rose, trying to hide the tremors that made her arms shake from the content of her reverie, put one arm around her daughter, as uncomfortable as it was with the large bag obscuring her reach, and pulled her in for a small hug.

"I did too, darling," she said in a voice full of pure song. She had never felt so happy, it seemed like, in years! The memory of her past was forgotten. Her life was piecing itself back together: slowly, but steadily.

...

Jack raised an eyebrow when he saw his daughter and true love fumble through the doorway with bags of clothing preventing their every move. They were both breathing heavily from the climb up the stairs and the laughter they had shared on the walk home. Breathless, Josephine dropped her bags and plopped down on the couch. Rose followed closely behind and fell on a nearby chair, closing her eyes so she could regain herself.

"Uh... You two have fun today?" Jack asked with a questioning smirk. He put down the newspaper he was reading along with the mug of cold coffee he was slowly drinking and waited for an answer from either his fatigued daughter or exhausted lover.

Josephine was the first to answer. She raised her arm from her position on the couch and declared, "Mama and I went shopping today and we had a great time."

Jack nodded his head, and Josephine put her hand down lazily. He then looked at Rose for her response and she just nodded her head, raised her hand halfway, and panted, "What she said." However, even after she had spoken, he still kept his gaze on her. Rose didn't notice until her breathing went back to normal and she opened her eyes, which immediately fell on Jack's blue irises.

She blinked her eyes. A pure green with hints of blue, Jack noticed, and _had_ noticed since he pulled her over those so many years ago. He knew he must've been smiling like a fool, for he abruptly looked away and blushed a deep crimson. "Uh-"

Rose's giggles made him stop, and his blush deepened when he realized he had been caught in the act. "Why, Mr. Dawson," she laughed, putting her hand to her mouth so to calm her fit of laughter, "I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing!" She then gave him a sweet smile, and he gave her one back. Josephine noticed by their gazes that they had some secret going on between them.

"Talk about risky things," Josephine mumbled, and Jack and Rose burst into laughter. _If only she knew..._ they thought.

...

Later on, Josephine had locked herself in the bathroom to get cleaned up and ready to go out for dinner with her father. Rose came up with the idea, and told Jack it was a great way to catch up with his teenage daughter. Jack had sighed and said, "I'm sorry, Rose. I should've been there to help you and watch Josie grow up." He put a hand to his forehead to ease the aching guilt that lay there.

Rose had put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and said sympathetically, "It's all right, Jack. Neither of us expected it." And though she loved Josephine with all her heart, she spoke the honest truth when she said she didn't expect to have Jack's child. After all, who would've thought of having a family when your mind was overwhelmed and swollen with so much love, and all you could think about was that person? For Rose, that's how it was, and when she figured out... She had smiled and cried through the whole thing, for she was afraid and shocked and thrilled that Jack was still and always will be with her.

Jack had taken Rose's hand in his and laced his fingers through it. "You're right, Rose," he said, and smiled slightly at her. "I shouldn't feel guilty." Yet, the guilt was still there. How badly he wanted to rewind time, find his Rose and their unborn child, and whisk her away into a world with no poverty, nor an unhealthy atmosphere, and watch his child grow up. And all the while they'd be doing it together.

While Jack dreamed of a different past, Rose had put her other hand on Jack's face and let her fingers rub tenderly across his cheek. He again took that hand and kissed it, then the other, and before either knew it, both had bent forward and shared their first kiss in seventeen years. When they pulled apart, Rose whispered in his ear, "You've still got it, Jack."

They both smiled and laughed and remembered their short time together on the supposed ship of dreams. And they kept this way, content and sweetly embracing their amorous past, until Josephine had barged in, all dressed up with her hair done and everything, and broke the special moment.

Even as Jack helped his daughter into the waiting carriage and Rose watched from a window above, their extraordinary bond, lust, and love for each other remained, unbroken through their mere hours of separation.

…

Though Rose's mind had resumed to binging memories of her past, she was still able to make out the sound of a polite knock on the door. Rubbing her eyes, the action of doing so forced her to leave those recollections behind: Cal, Jack, her mother, Alec, and more. Her thirty-four-year life was so long now, the list could continue on forever.

She smoothed out the creases in her dress and reached the door handle. She didn't know what to expect, but who was in front of her made her jaw drop open and her hand limply fall from the knob.

His smile was still the same, but there was something about it that evoked emotion. Was it guilt? Desperation? _Lust? _She stepped back, suddenly very afraid, as he took an intimidating step forward. "Hello, Rose."

She was face to face with no other than Caledon Hockley.


	15. Cruelty

_**Chapter 14: Cruelty**_

"What are you doing here?" Rose spat through gritted teeth; her hands, clenched so hard into fists, were shaking. Cal, seeing the fear and anger on her face, removed the hat from the top of his head and tried to explain, but she only shut him up. "You know what, I don't want to hear it. Just leave."

Cal took a cautioned step back as the door came barreling at his face. Rose, disgusted, scoffed and walked away from the front door, initially heading to the bedroom but ending up on the floor in a huddled pile, defeated by the searing pain in her leg.

He heard the thudding noise and knocked on the door again, this time compassion taking over his heart. "Rose," he said clearly, not a single hint of deception in his voice, "I know."

Rose, still not wanting to believe why her leg gave out from under her, got up shakily from the floor and stood up. Cal's heart pounded as he waited for an answer, and his hopes were high when she opened the door, her cheeks dotted with tears. "H-how do you know?" she stuttered pathetically as she had a sudden urge to whimper.

Cal sighed and smiled weakly, taking in the beauty of his former fiancée who he hadn't seen in years. "Let me in and I'll explain everything."

…

Jack took Josephine to a nearby Parisian restaurant where they dined to their hearts' content. During the meal, Josephine was asked tons of questions she was never asked before, such as her earliest memory (her mother singing her to sleep with a soft lullaby) or what her favorite color was (all shades of purple, of course). It all seemed silly to her, but it made her father excited and happy to get to know her better, and so she answered truthfully with a smile on her face.

"I was born on January fifteenth, 1913, as Mama probably already told you," she said while stirring her _café au lait._ "Oh, and I know how to speak fluent French. It was something I taught myself during my free time." Clearing her throat, she opened her tiny, bow-shaped lips and spoke a sentence in rapid French, proud of her knowledge.

Jack looked at her blankly, barely understanding a word she said. "Uh, _je parle anglais_?" He thought of Rose whenever he used a French accent, the jokes they made on the _Titanic_ still haunting him. How, even after the iceberg hit and they had witnessed the whole ship shaking, neither of them thought of the danger. So Rose, in a flirtatious and witty mood, sent a piece of slippery ice down his back.

Josephine's laugh, a pure ringing sound that had a tone close to Rose's own laugh, whacked Jack out of his reverie. "Oh, I love French so much more now."

"Then I chose the proper place for you," Jack joked weakly, smiling back at her. Rose's young, healthy face kept coming back in his mind, and it was impossible to shove out. The kiss they shared just a mere couple hours ago made him wish he had never left her alone in the first place.

But he did this for Josephine. After all, his daughter was an amazing person. She deserved a break from the harsh world she had no choice but to live in. In the end, Jack came up with one conclusion: Rose taught her well.

"Well, Jack...," Josephine started, ready to commence with a new conversation.

"Please, call me anything _but_ Jack _or _Mr. Dawson!" Jack said while taking a bite out of a slice of baguette.

Josephine blinked at him, all traces of life lost from her facial expression. Clearing her throat, she looked down shyly and said, "I always dreamed of having a father, you know. Mama told me he was dead, and that it will always be just me and her. She also told me I had no other family."

Jack thought of Rose's mother, Ruth, and how she might have fared the past sixteen or so years in debt - and without her daughter. She looked at him as though he was an insect anyway, just like how Cal thought of him as filth. But the saddest part of the whole voyage was, Jack couldn't remember anything about the night he almost died, except for the cold forcing him to shut his eyes. He wished he could've forgotten all the trouble it took him to keep seeing Rose, but the torture was all worth it in the end.

He reached out and took his daughter's hand, which was small and dainty and fit perfectly into his own. "It was all a big misunderstanding, Josie, and I'm here now," he reassured her, a compassionate glow in his eyes.

Josephine glanced into his eyes and her voice turned hard. "You pity me, of course..." She irritably dropped her napkin on her lap.

Jack felt sorry for a lot of things, and that included his daughter. But now he felt bad for letting his emotions show so easily. After all, he had had years of experience hiding them. Years to forget about Rose. "I'm sorry, Josie. It's just... How can I not feel bad? I left you and your mother alone for years, and now I feel like everything that happened to you is my fault..."

Josephine looked down at her knees, this time guilt swarming her. "It's all right, Papa. It's not your fault."

Jack looked up at his daughter, who was fidgeting with her fingers. "I like that, Josie."

Josephine cocked her head. "Like what?" She hadn't even noticed her slip up.

Jack laughed. "That! The name you gave me." He smiled at her, the reality of the whole past couple weeks hitting him full on in the face.

"Oh, you mean Papa? Well, it was something I dreamed about calling my father if I ever had one." The expression in her eyes didn't change, though.

Jack sighed. "I'm really sorry, Josephine. I didn't mean for any of this happen."

She only shrugged. "It's all right, Papa. Everything happens for a reason, right?" And she continued eating her meal.

He watched her for a minute before saying, "I guess so." Yet, he couldn't shake the haunting figure of her mother staring at him with her blue-green eyes, the shattering of their hearts when, those seventeen years ago, they had both shared their dreams. And little did they know that everything they disclosed with one another, everything they hoped for, was to be crushed by the cruelty of that pitch-black night.

...

"Tell me more about yourself, Papa! You've already bombarded me with all your questions."

Jack and Josephine decided to take a small stroll around the park before heading home, when Jack found himself in the questioning position of authority. Josephine was, he learned, rather pushy.

"Well, what do you want to know?" Jack asked her, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The air was warm and sticky from the day's heat, and he pushed a strand of hair from fastening on his forehead.

Josephine thought of what to ask very thoughtfully. She wanted to know Jack well, so any question would do. Then she thought of it, the one question she couldn't answer even if she tried. "What was your childhood like?"

Jack thought this interrogation over, thinking of how to describe his uneventful past until he was the tender age of fifteen. "Well, it was peaceful and nice, I guess. I lived in a small town called Chippewa Falls in Wisconsin. It was a decent place. My parents would teach me right from wrong, and I would plow ahead through life. Then my folks died when I was fifteen from a very bad winter, and I was on my own. I traveled across Europe for five years before deciding I wanted to head back, so when two men were bidding their tickets for a sailing on the R.M.S. _Titanic_, I knew I had to win. A lucky hand of poker, that was. I met your mother on the ship, as she said. She was all high and mighty, and I was just some penniless American artist. I wasn't expecting much. Must've been my charm, I guess." They both laughed at his joke.

"Mama told me you fell in love at first sight," Josephine said, nudging his elbow as he blushed. The whole idea sounded so romantic to her, and she was dying for as much information as possible.

"Maybe," he said, flipping his overgrown hair away from his face. Josephine snorted and Jack smiled widely before they began to walk in silence again. However, she couldn't take _maybe_ for an answer.

"What did you love most about Mama?" Josephine inquired as she tried to picture her parents young again on a very grand ship.

Jack chuckled to himself slightly, and confidently said, "She wasn't like the rest. She had a very carefree spirit. There was her smile, her laugh, her eyes... Such a pure green color, like yours, with those small hints of blue. And God, she was daring! Always one step ahead of me. She wanted to try everything. She had such an inquisitive personality. She needed someone to set her free, and I guess I was the one who did exactly that."

Josephine grinned. "That's sweet, Papa."

Jack ruffled her hair, and kissed the top of her head. "And now I have a beautiful daughter because of it."

They walked home in a peaceful silence, hand in hand.

...

Rose let out a small cry when Cal lifted up her skirt to determine exactly what was causing her the drastic pain in her leg. He let it fall down limply in his hands, his face turning green. "And you haven't seen a doctor about this?"

She let out a small sniffle. Her cheeks, tainted with tear tracks, were pale and rosy at the same time. After a long and tear-jerking chat, she had learned everything about Cal since the last time she saw him on the sinking ship. She then updated him on her life since, her stomach too tied up in knots to mention Josephine. He already had to witness their little affair, why did he have to learn the details?

Another tear stained her dress as she looked down and closed her moaning eyes, the whole ordeal of the past few days finally getting to her. "I've had it checked months ago. It wasn't so bad then, but I didn't have the money."

Cal eyed Rose, concern and alarm etched on his face. "I can help you, Rose," he stumbled out, then quickly added, "If you'd let me."

From the hopelessness in her eyes, he already knew the answer. She shook her head sadly, finally admitting to herself the truth. "We must move forward, Cal," she whispered before taking his hand and rubbing her thumb against his rough skin as a farewell.

As Rose closed the door behind him, Cal felt the cold clamminess of her skin against his, and he couldn't wave the feeling for the rest of the night that that would be the last time he would ever see her.

…

The next day was bright and sunny, and it made Rose crazy to be locked up inside all day. So, she slipped on a light blue dress and headed out, leaving word that she'll be at the park on a scrap of paper. Jack was at work, and Josephine was out somewhere. Even though no one would probably read it, it made her happy to think that someone might worry about her if she didn't leave some note on her whereabouts.

She hadn't told Jack or Josephine about her encounter with Cal the night before. After Josephine excused herself to bed, her thoughts were brewing, and to clear her mind she kissed Jack long and passionately before leaving to go to sleep, leaving him hungry for more.

The walk to the park was short, but Rose's smile lasted the whole time, the corners of her lips pulled upwards and showing her straight, slightly yellowed teeth. During her poverty, she thought dental hygiene meant much more than bathing. She had said that if you didn't have good teeth, you wouldn't be able to eat. Then where will you be?

Rose tried to banish thoughts of her old life out of her throbbing head. She only kept those of Josephine's birth, for it had been a day much like this one, though with snow shining on the ground. After that, everything became a mess, and so Rose never thought of it as often as she did of her time with Jack. However, thinking of those old times had made her sob uncontrollably, and things went worse when Josephine took up an interest on her parentage and history.

Shaking her head, Rose wanted to clear it of everything and just think of the warm sun on her face. Closing her eyes, she didn't notice her daughter's distress until she heard a young teenage girl with a voice dripping of sarcasm, and her eyelids flickered open quickly.

There was Josephine in a nice day dress, a colorful peach and white, backed up against a tree as a spoiled, rich girl sneered in her face. Behind her was a young man, looking confused, like he wanted to help but stopped himself. Startled, Rose felt the anger building up and warming her veins. To make her voice sound calm and sophisticated, she walked (not stomped) over and said, "Josephine, where have you been? Your father and I need to speak with you."

The bratty brunette stopped her lecture and gave a sweet smile. "Why, hello, Mrs. Dawson. Your daughter and I were just having a civilized chat."

Rose glared at her through her bluish green irises and thick lashes. "Who might you be?" she snapped rudely.

"Oh!" she chuckled, making herself seem so innocent, but the nervous sweat on her brow was evident. "I'm Danielle, and this is Galen. We're good friends of Josephine's."

Rose eyed Galen, who was fumbling with his fingers and not looking at anyone in the eye. She then raised an eyebrow and said firmly, "Danielle, it didn't seem like a civilized conversation you were having with my daughter. In fact, it seemed more like a threat."

Danielle gulped and her cheeks deepened in color. "No, like I said, we're friends-"

"Of a sort," Rose interrupted, glaring at Danielle. "Of a _bad_ sort," she added.

Danielle backed away, her pretty lips trembling as though she was hurt. "Why, Mrs. Dawson-"

"Go away and leave my daughter alone," Rose spat, taking an intimidating step toward Danielle, who shrunk away and squeaked, "Yes, ma'am," before grabbing Galen's hand and running away. Galen, however, pulled out of her grasp, turned around, and told Rose, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Dawson. Josephine just surprised us, that's all."

Rose sighed and smiled a bit. "We're no longer who we used to be, Galen," she said, liking this boy. He was much kinder than Danielle had been.

Galen nodded. "I understand, ma'am." He then turned back around and walked away in the direction Danielle ran off to.

Josephine hadn't said a word the whole time. Traumatized, she still had her hands clasped behind her so tight, her knuckles were white, leaning her back against the tree. "Josie," Rose said calmly, tenderly taking Josephine's hand. "Let's go home."

...

Once they entered the apartment, Josephine hurled herself on the guest room bed and started sobbing. "She's so cruel!" she cried, putting her head in her hands. "So viscous!"

Rose came up and sat next to her, stroking her back and hair. "It's all right, sweetheart, she won't bother you again." She put her arms around her for a motherly hug. They stayed that way, in each other's arms, as Josephine tearfully told Rose how Danielle had rudely started calling her family bad names, and how she called Josephine many impolite things, too. Then she had gone on making fun of her clothes, even though they were much better than the rags she used to wear. Josephine finished her story, tearfully mumbling, "Words hurt much more than I thought they ever would."

Rose agreed, and held her daughter tighter. "But you know what, Josephine, everything will get better." She pushed aside a lock of hair from Josephine's wet face. "Not everything was meant to stay bad." Josephine nodded her head slightly, and looked down, sniffling.

Rose sighed. It pained her to see her daughter like this, so broken down by society. It bothered her because it had irritated _her_ when she was living the life of a high-society girl. She pushed Josephine away a little bit, taking her chin in her hand, and making her look up. "Josephine, do you remember when I told you that each of those pictures meant something to me?"

Josephine cocked her head. "What pictures?" she sniffled.

Her mother smiled. "The ones in that scrapbook I made." Josephine's eyes lit up. "Yes, those," Rose laughed. She exhaled through her nose at a satisfying pace and then continued, "Josephine Emma Dawson, you look so much like your father." Her eyes were beaming with pride. "And ever since you came into my life, you've meant so much to me. You've been a reminder of the promise I made, and the memories I longed to forget. You're practically my savior." She wiped the corner of her eyes, which were wet with tears of recollection. "You know, you've shown me so much about life, just like Jack. And that's what I mean by every picture in that scrapbook means something to me: Because in every single one of those photographs, you're in there somewhere. Oh, and Josie-" Her voice became strangled "-you look so much like him!" She put her head in her hands and began to sob. "I love you so much, Josephine. Oh, God, I do!"

Josephine was only able to pull her mother into a loving, thankful hug, and didn't say a word the rest of the day.


	16. Drama

_**Chapter 15: Drama**_

Weeks passed, and July ended and August commenced. Soon the leaves were growing weaker, and flowers were bowing down in the boiling heat, though throughout the summer month it was to get cooler. The sun bore down on them like a simmering pot of hot oil, and though the temperature was at times unbearable, the weather was nice and chilly in the mornings. The clouds danced around in big, fluffy clumps, ready to pour rain on the city and christen the start of autumn.

The Dawson household was doing much better as the days progressed, a peaceful month passing by. Cal was practically forgotten, but Rose kept an eye on the newspaper to read about his inspirational stories. For almost a month now she had been struggling whether to decide to let Cal help her or not, but the answer always came out unsure. Josephine had overcome her fear of the overly rich, now that they knew she was practically a part of them, and Rose's emotional issues had calmed down, too. Jack's work had been getting better and better, now that his inspiration was alive and in the flesh.

Rose yawned and put the book she was holding down. Raising an eyebrow in the corner of the room where she was sitting on a plush chair, she said, "Jack, are you almost done? I'm not as patient as I used to be."

Jack looked up from his work, smiled at her, and said, "It's almost finished, Rose, just pick up the book again." Rolling her eyes, Rose did as she was told.

At that moment, Josephine walked in. "It's my half-birthday today," she declared, her chin full of pride. Both of her parents gave her eyebrow-raising stares, and she blinked through her disguise. "Okay, so today's not my half-birthday! It was ten days ago, but I forgot." She shrugged her shoulders and unwrapped a piece of candy found in the bowl on the table. The house was decorated with sweets due to Rose's upcoming birthday, which happened to be tomorrow. "Does time really go by so fast? I'm half-past sixteen! I feel so old now."

Josephine plopped down on the couch and watched over Jack's shoulder. "Papa, your work has gotten much better! Too bad mine will never be as good as yours." Josephine always compared her lifetime interest in art to her father's, which Rose said was unfair because Jack was twenty years older than her. However, she couldn't stop hovering over her work, trying to make each little detail perfect.

"Don't be so negative, Josie, your work is fine! I am your father, aren't I?" Jack said, eying Rose, who had been trying to squirm away from her stiff position on the chair, but got caught. "Rose, you know I can see you."

Sticking her tongue out, Rose settled back in, pouting. Jack rolled his eyes and hoped she was just pretending.

"Mama, guess what? The theater is showing a mix of Shakespeare plays! Wouldn't you love to go? I know I would!" Josephine exclaimed, pulling out the sugary sucker from her mouth, licking it, and popping it back in. "All the classics, you know? Like _Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, The Tempest, Taming of the Shrew_... Oh, Mama, please, let's go! For your birthday!"

Rose shifted into a more comfortable position and said, "Well, Josie, if you insist." She then looked at Jack. "Is it all right if we buy tickets?"

Jack shook his head. "No, not at all. Go have fun!"

Josephine tried to pull her mother out of the chair right when Jack blew on his masterpiece and confirmed its finality, but she shook her off and told her to go get ready. If she didn't talk to Jack now, she thought she would explode.

She kept her eyes on her lover's face until the guest room door closed, and she shut her eyes weakly. She had been feeling slightly sick the past week, and it didn't take away the depressing thoughts she had from time to time. "Jack," she sobbed, immediately feeling his arms wrap around her tiny waist, soothing her.

"I could've made so much of myself," she whimpered into his shirt. "When Josephine brought up the theater, it's almost like she also brought up the dream I had of becoming an actress. You remember, right?"

Jack kissed her temple tenderly and pulled her closer. "Of course I remember," he whispered into her hair, wiping her wet face with his calloused thumb. "Rose, I remember everything from our time on the _Titanic. _No matter how much I wanted it to go away sometimes, it was always there."

Rose's lips were contorted into an ugly frown, but she couldn't control it as tears kept rolling down her cheeks. "Maybe if I had told him everything…," she mumbled, a memory of her time before Josephine floating around in her brain.

Jack, however, was clueless. "What do you mean, Rose?"

Her mouth trembled, but she couldn't say it. Instead she began to ramble about everything else that was bothering her, words flowing out of her mouth like a broken dam. "I could've done so much!" she sobbed uncontrollably, the life she could've had breaking her down into tears. "I wanted to be an actress, or a sculptor…o-or a dancer, and I just—" She took a deep breath through her nose, her eyes closed from the strain of it all. "I let it escape. It was right in my grasp, and I let it." The room was quiet and still, reminding Rose of the countless times she found herself thinking in her bedroom about how messed up her engagement with Cal was and the limitless amount of cotillions she had to attend with him. No more tears dropped from her eyes, which her fixed on the opposite wall.

"Even after Josephine was born," she croaked, her voice swollen from crying, "all I had to do was reach out and make it happen. But I didn't." She looked into Jack's caring eyes and shook her head sadly. "I couldn't take it anymore, Jack. I couldn't handle anything anymore…"

Fixing herself into a more comfortable position on the couch, she licked her lips, finally ready to tell Jack everything she knew, everything she suffered through, but Josephine burst open the guestroom door and asked what was taking her so long. Instead, Rose pushed those bustling thoughts aside and locked them away for the rest of the night.

…

"What should we wear, Mama? What color?" Josephine pulled out a beautiful turquoise and black dress. "Oh, this one for sure!" She then scanned through the rest and picked out another, a sky blue with white lace trimming.

As Rose changed into the turquoise dress, she mentally slapped herself for almost revealing her many secrets, but after berating herself she began to panic. How could she get herself tangled up into this? Go out to the theater where every high society family goes, people who know her reputation? People who know her secret, though it had never been told-

"Mama, do you mind doing my hair?" Josephine asked, sitting down at the vanity and looking at the replica of her own eyes. "You do it so much better than I."

Rose nodded, and gulped the bad feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. She positioned herself behind Josephine with pins and combs and ribbons in her hand, putting her dirty-blonde locks up in a loose bun and letting some curls fly loose.

"Mama, what did you love about Papa?" Josephine asked unexpectedly, remembering her conversation with her father yesterday night.

Rose was startled by the question. "You mean, what made me love him so much?" Josephine nodded her head. "Well, there were his eyes, that piercing blue color. Oh, and that smile! It caught my breath every single time. I was into art, and he was an amazing artist, but these aren't the real reasons why I fell in love with him. They were just qualities that had caught my attention. The real reason is that he saved me, in any way a woman can be saved. He cared enough to try, though the thought of me falling in love with him probably sounded impossible to him. He almost lost his own life to save mine, twice. He showed he would've done anything for me, and with him around I felt like my true self. I wished for something I couldn't have, and I got that wish on the maiden voyage. It was him all along." She smiled and gently tugged at a tangle in Josephine's hair. "Now that's enough stories for today, hm?"

Josephine beamed back at her mother, excited to tell her father everything she heard. "Of course, Mama. But may I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"Papa did think it was impossible. You know, he told me what he loves so much about you." Color rose in Rose's face as Josephine told her everything Jack had said yesterday. Blushing deeply, Rose licked her dry lips and stuttered, heart pounding, "He said all that?"

Josephine nodded her head. "All of it. He really loves you, Mama." She then slipped in a pearl comb in her hair and tied a light-blue ribbon around it, watching her mother's expression through the mirror.

Rose was smiling very lovingly, her heart swollen from all the emotion she felt at that moment. "Excuse me," she said, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She found Jack sitting on the couch, admiring some artwork copies that would soon be sent to the gallery. "So, Mr. Dawson," she began, putting her hands behind her back. "A little bird just told me something very interesting." Her locked-away experiences felt like a lost memory now.

Jack looked up at her and saw the mischievous smile on her face. She winked playfully. "She told me a very long list of things you love about me."

He blushed a deep shade of crimson, the blood rising to his cheeks rather quickly. "Josephine told you-?"

"Everything," Rose sighed, taking a seat next to him and blinking her eyes innocently. "What was I to do but listen?" And she daringly kissed his cheek and nuzzled into his neck.

Jack was speechless. Since when did she get so romantic? The broken vase from weeks ago popped up in his thoughts, and he remembered her words: _I've changed. _It didn't seem like she did now. Heart thumping, he dared himself to kiss her passionately on the lips. Rose was the first to pull away, and she seemed hesitant. "Jack, remember what I said...," she muttered as though she had read his thoughts.

"I know, Rose," he whispered, and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "Just remember that I'm always there for you."

Rose breathed in his familiar scent, and began playing with his hand, letting hers intertwine with his. "You know what I love about you?" And she told him everything she told Josephine, but this conversation ended with a deep kiss that made both of their hearts flutter.

"I have to go get ready," Rose finally said, breaking the embrace and walking back into the guestroom, only looking back once, though it was a quick glance. She ignored Josephine's knowing expression and did the same to her own hair as she did to Josephine's; then, both slipped on their heels, put on makeup and jewelry, and exited the room.

Jack whistled from his spot at the kitchen table, where he was reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. The passionate moment from before hadn't left his mind as he saw Rose walk out, looking just like how she did when he first met her. Again, the memory of Rose's life of crime popped like a bubble.

"I look nice, don't I?" Rose winked at him, remembering when those words were said. Jack mischievously smiled back, and Josephine jabbed her elbow into her mother's arm. "_We_ look nice, don't _we_?"

Jack laughed and got up from his seat. He walked towards them, put his hands on one of each of their shoulders, and said, "_Both_ of you look nice." Rose kissed him thankfully on the cheek, and Josephine giggled. She had left behind a smear of red lipstick on his cheek.

Rubbing it off, he teased, "No fair! I'm the only man in this household! This is disgusting." Rose's laughs bounced off the walls, a beautiful, ringing sound. Then Jack put his arms around her waist and pulled her close, though she was still laughing, into a hug. Both stood like that for a few moments before Rose pulled away and kissed him again. "We'll be back later."

Josephine stuck her tongue out jokingly at the romance of it all, and Rose just took her hand with a happy smile, and they walked out of the apartment together as mother and daughter, a seemingly happy family.

...

They arrived at the Broadway Theatre a few minutes later - in carriage, of course. Neither wanted to sweat, especially in the heat, and ruin their clothes, hair, and makeup, so they hired a driver. Rose handed the man a tip and told him when to arrive again, and soon it was just her and Josephine, staring at the large, exquisite theater as the sound of horse hooves on the pavement echoed away.

Josephine took Rose's hand and they took a step towards the huge building, Rose's heart pounding fearfully the whole time.

_Tha-thump! Tha-thump! Tha-thump! Tha-thump!_

And then the unnerving happened: Her terrified heart skipped a beat.


	17. Encounter

_**Chapter 16: Encounter**_

The theater was packed with the high-society people, whose places belonged with the rich. They chatted and drank champagne as they waited for the play to begin, before they would file in and find their opera boxes. Josephine and Rose, however, did not have their own box, so they bought a one-show ticket, and would be sitting in the rows in front of the stage.

"Why, Miss DeWitt Bukater!"

Rose's heart stopped. An aching pain crept up her leg, tingling and fevering with discomfort. She quickly shifted her weight, feeling the sweat start to boil on her forehead. She felt as though her whole world was falling apart. How could anyone recognize her? Wasn't everyone supposed to think she was dead? She gulped and turned around, taking Josephine's hand for support.

It was Madeline Astor. She was with a young man Josephine's age, and her once-bright eyes held a huge loss in them. Rose knew she had lost her husband, the millionaire John Jacob Astor - J.J. for short - in the _Titanic_ tragedy years ago. But that didn't explain how she didn't know Rose was dead.

"Oh, darling, look at you! You haven't changed a bit," awed Madeline, who glanced at Josephine. The look in her eyes perked up. "Who's this?"

Rose's throat was dry. She thought she felt drops of sweat dripping off her neatly made-up face. "Madeline, it's great to see you. This is my daughter, Josephine."

"Oh, so you're married? I heard about the broken engagement between you and Mr. Hockley. I would've known the story, but I haven't touched a newspaper since..." Her voice cracked a little at the end, "…that night."

Rose nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear about J.J., Madeline."

Madeline shook her head slightly, her eyes unreadable. "It's quite all right. It's been so long, hasn't it? Seventeen years now?"

Rose sighed and nodded. "Yes, such a long time it's been since we've talked." She glanced at the young man standing next to her. Madeline noticed, and explained, "This is my son, John. You know, J.J.'s son." She said the last part in a strangled whisper.

"Oh," Rose replied, not knowing what else to say.

"You know, Rose, I haven't talked to anyone about the sinking _once_ since it happened."

"Really?"

"Yes. Only to say my last memory, which was of my husband standing on the deck with our adorable Airedale, Kitty." Her eyes were slowly and silently filling with tears, which flowed down her cheeks. "The little puppy we adored so much. I remember when we lost him, in Cairo, when we didn't give much of a care for him, when we really did. That's why it was such a relief that we found him." Madeline sighed at the memory, closing her eyes shut tight as though she was in pain. "Oh, I think I have a headache!"

"Mother, maybe we should go home," John suggested, taking her gently by the elbow.

"Why, of course not, Jakey!" Madeline gaped, shaking him off. "A lady should never be caught weak in public, especially by something as trivial as a headache." She smiled at Rose and Josephine. "Please, join us in the Astor box."

Neither protested, and so Madeline and Rose walked together through the theater lobby, which was slowly emptying as people filed in. Behind her, Rose heard John say, "And what's your name, love?" then Josephine say, "I'm Josephine."

"So, Roes, you have quite a beautiful daughter there. I never knew you married! Since when were you?" Madeline gushed, making Rose's eavesdropping stop.

Rose's cheeks got red. "You remember Mr. Dawson, I assume?"

"Oh, that handsome heir? Yes, he seemed like a nice boy."

Rose nodded. "Quite."

"And your daughter's name?"

"Josephine." Rose smiled weakly through her discomfort.

"Ah, such a pretty name for a pretty girl!" Madeline laughed with herself.

Rose decided to do the polite thing and have her acquaintance get some attention too. "And you, Madeline?"

"Well, I'm remarried to my old childhood friend. His name is William Dick."

Behind them, Josephine and John were striking up a friendly conversation. "Reading is what I do to that helps me connect with the soul, you know what I mean?" Josephine was saying. "The passion in which the author is writing, his words and techniques, all blend together to create a masterpiece that is meant to make you think and wonder."

John was intently staring into Josephine's eyes. He was very attracted to their pure, blue- green color, an impeccable mixture, glowing with enthusiasm and adventure that she wished to have. He found her words and thoughts of life tug at his heart, trying to tell him that not everything was about money like he thought.

He nodded. "I completely agree with your philosophy." Her beautiful eyes sparkled, and her small lips, perfect on her face, curved upwards into a_ petit sourire_.

John forced himself to look away from her awed expression and at the grandeur of the theater they were entering. He felt foolish thinking she grew up like he did. After all, her clothes weren't covered in jewels or endless patterns of expensive Chinese silk. It was a simple, pretty sky-blue dress that complimented her frame nicely. Clearing his throat, he began, "So, Josephine." She looked up at him, her long lashes blinking over her awe-filled bluish green irises. He laughed a bit to himself. "All this rich stuff. Seems a little preposterous, doesn't it?"

Josephine's eyes widened, and her mouth formed in the tiny shape of an O. "Preposterous?" she exclaimed. "I've never seen anything this grand my whole life!"

John laughed, and his grin stayed on his face even as the play began, before he realized Josephine put her hand over his.

...

As the play started, Madeline put her opera glasses up to her eyes, and Rose was relieved. She didn't like the feeling of someone she knew in her past life staring at her, even just to be polite as she talked, afraid they could read her mind and soul. Tension fading, she relaxed in the plush seat, focusing her best on the play, but feeling guilty that she had spent all the money for the seats in the theater when they weren't even going to use them.

Josephine's cheeks were flushed by what she had done. Hold hands with a millionaire? It didn't make sense. Yet, her mother had fallen in love with a penniless man... Could someone as wealthy as John ever show her the same fairy tale? Still, he moved his hand to hold her fingers tenderly, and she eyed him and saw him smiling at her. She grinned shyly back, and flushed even more, because why would he want to hold her hand when it was sweating as though it was outside on a hot summer day?

Rose observed the theater, rarely paying attention to Shakespeare's _Hamlet_. She was overwhelmed by the appearance of Ophelia, who made her suddenly nervous, and she was curious to see if she recognized anyone here. She saw a pair of opera glasses go up, pointed in her direction. Then a designated whisper, directed right at her, and her blood ran cold. She saw two other pairs of glasses look up in her direction, which arose with more whispers. Madeline seemed to notice. "It seems, dear, that you haven't been out in quite some time. Look at the show you're making!"

Josephine noticed her mother's paling distress and broke her small embrace with John to get up and put both hands on Rose's shoulders, leaning down her head and whispering, "Mama, are you okay?"

Rose was instantly sick. She felt dizzy, and her stomach was in knots. The feeling in her leg burned. This was why she didn't want to go. This was why she never wanted to be seen in the eyes of a rich person ever again. She felt all pairs of judging eyeballs on her, and she squirmed in her seat. Madeline's hand went over hers, concerned. "Rose, are you all right?" She then looked around at all the pointing and whispering directed to the Astor box. "My, my, you're making quite a scene! Much more interesting than this Shakespeare drama, am I right?" she joked, chuckling to herself as she sighed.

Rose's hand went tight under Madeline's. "You don't get it, Madeline," she said, her voice a hushed whisper not trying to hide its secret. "I'm supposed to be dead."

Madeline's face was that of confusion and shock. "What-?"

She was cut off by a voice finally making the rumors true. "Why, look at that, Mr. Smith!" it exclaimed. Rose saw the woman in the box of a young man she did not recognize, who was old and probably hard of hearing, not intending to shout. "It's Miss DeWitt Bukater!" And she waved enthusiastically, insisting to be taken to the Astors' box for a visit.

Rose's heart clenched. Her blood ran an icy cold. She blanched, her throat dry as a hot desert in the middle of summer. Her pupils shrunk in shock, her body pricked, straight and unmoving as a board. There were small gasps here and there from the old woman's exclamation, and soon everyone was aware that Rose DeWitt Bukater had not died that cold, tragic night on the _Titanic_, but was, in fact, alive and well – and in the theater.

"Mama?" Josephine's voice came out in a squeak. She also knew that Rose was found out.

Rose calmly got up from her chair and walked out of the box. Josephine's heart was thumping like crazy; she was afraid for her mother more than ever before, and her concern showed on her face. "Josephine?" John whispered, looking at her with dark eyes full of surprise and attention. His curiosity was much stronger than his care, though. "Was your mother the Rose DeWitt Bukater who died on the _Titanic_?"

Of course John Jacob Astor VI read of it. He had read any newspaper he could find based on the _Titanic_, to learn more about his parents' past. He was a very interested young man, one of great talents, but some immaturity still there, one of his few flaws. So, he had researched all he can. There were a couple major articles he read describing the death of Rose DeWitt Bukater, fiancée of Caledon Hockley, and how she had never been found, her name not even on the survivors' list.

Josephine was shocked he had even been so rude as to ask such stupid things. Furious at herself for thinking there could have been a connection, she abruptly got up from the chair and stared long into his eyes. She saw pity. "You show me compassion I don't want nor need. I've seen enough of those looks already in the past."

Rose had barely made it to the exit, she was so faint. The floor moved under her feet, and everything appeared as though it had a double. She heard her name being called ("Mama! Mama!") and turned around. She saw her daughter approaching, running as fast as she could in the heels she was wearing, John following more slowly behind her, his expression considerate yet guilty. Rose, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions in the whole building, turned on her heels and ran.

She ran as far as she could before she had to stop. She was too dizzy to continue, her legs too weak. She could feel the blood in her defected leg pounding ferociously in its vessel. She was found out. She would've thought her life was over, but Cal knew of her and her mother hadn't sought out to find her. So why did it matter?

I'll tell you this: It mattered to Rose because her plan to pretend she was dead was a way to get away from the rich society and enjoy the life she wanted - and as a Dawson. Now that her plan had finally fallen apart, she could be sucked back into them, people wanting to know what happened, their empathetic faces begging her to come back and eat luncheon with them and their friends at the ritziest places in town. They could find her easily. Wasn't that the way of the spoiled man? That whatever they wanted, they got it?

Her chest heaved, her breath coming in irregular intervals. She heard the clicking of heels approaching her, but that was all she heard before she collapsed on to the sidewalk, pitifully in a puddle, since it began to rain.

The rain had been her tears.

...

Cal sat in her apartment with little Katie on his lap, reading a storybook. In one hand he held a well-needed brandy, and in the other he supported his youngest child. After struggling hopelessly with his whirling thoughts, he whisked Katie off to bed and found his wife, Eleanor, staring concernedly at him from the couch.

He exhaled loudly and plopped down on the cushions, Eleanor's hand patting his knee. "Has she still been bothering you, Cal?"

Before he answered, he pulled out the medical records on a Rose Dawson from the manila folder on the coffee table. How he had got them, he thanked the Lord that He let him have his ways with his riches. He scanned the page thoroughly one more time.

There was one day in the early fall of 1912 where Rose had gotten an illness from the sudden change in weather, quickly diagnosed as the flu. The notes listed below the date said that she was five months pregnant and battled an earlier case of pneumonia. The next date, January fifteenth, highlighted a birth certificate, and how she had suffered some complications with the process but was fine. Then the records stopped, and it was only sixteen years later that another popped up.

Cal could barely stand looking at that date, almost a year ago. He remembered Rose's chilling seventeen-year-old face and how innocent she looked. He never expected her affair or the aftermath it brought to her new life. In fact, he believed she was dead.

His mouth opened to say something, but he quickly shut his lips. What was there to say? There was nothing he could do now.

It was time to say good-bye.

…

Jack was sitting in the living room, a warm fire burning in the fireplace, holding a velvet box in his hand. He studied its contents with a large, passionate smile on his face. He knew she would like it.

The door slammed open, and a soaked Josephine ran in. She was crying and dripping wet from head to toe. There was some blood on her dress. Jack had closed the small box right when the door burst open, shoving it hastily and awkwardly in his pocket.

His mind dreaded the worst. "What happened?" he questioned in his calmest voice, but it cracked a little.

Josephine's breathing was turning into hyperventilation. "It's Mama!" she cried, putting her sleeve to her eyes to blot up more tears. "She's collapsed on the sidewalk and she won't get up!"


	18. Purity

_**Chapter 17: Purity**_

By the time Jack and Josephine made it to the spot Rose had fallen posthaste, she was wide awake. John stood by her, unaware of what to do, as he protected himself under the awning. He had tried to gently coax Rose under it as well, but she had screamed and even punched him, missing his face by an inch. Now she was sobbing, large drops of tears pouring down her cheeks; her cries could be heard echoing down the street.

And it did seem like there was some blood, but very little. He assumed that she had scraped herself on the pavement and brushed it aside.

Jack rushed to the tragic scene laid out before him. He took her in his arms, and though she had fought back with little effort, her feisty tears had made her weak. She no longer had the strength to fight anymore; she didn't want anyone to comfort her, even if that person was Jack.

"Come on," he said in a tone that had disappointment written all over it. "Let's get you home."

...

Josephine was crying herself when her and her parents entered the apartment. Jack, carrying Rose in his arms, had informed her he was going to call a doctor, when she started yelling and fighting back again. She pounded on his back, not forcefully or hard enough to cause pain, but still enough that it made an impression on Jack. To calm her down, he had to immediately say he wouldn't call on one like he said. Rose had instantly pacified, and Josephine became worried. _What had overcome her mother to act this way, like she was some child?_

Jack told Josephine to close the door behind him as he laid Rose down on the couch, hastily adding more wood to the fire, and laying down blankets over her wet figure. With more light, Jack could see the distress on her face, and the many hopes he had before shattered.

It was the first time he noticed the dark circles forming under her eyes. Her shivering turned into convulsions, and he watched as her teeth chattered in her mouth.

Josephine made some coffee and brought mugs for all of them. Letting her father take up the little room left on the couch, she sat down on a near chair, watching as her parents whispered so quietly, she could barely hear what they were saying.

Giving up on eavesdropping, Josephine gulped down her mug, enjoying the steamy warmth that traveled down her throat, and went to the guestroom. She came back with a lukewarm, dry night gown for Rose to change into, which she did shakily, ignoring the fact she was doing so in front of everybody. But she weakly asked them if they could kindly look away, and so none of them saw the disfigurement growing on her thigh. Josephine then took her wet clothes and dismissed herself for the night.

Now that they were alone, Jack was able to attempt to get information out of Rose. "Rose," he began, dropping his voice to a tender sound so he wouldn't make it seem like he was intimidating her. He put his hand on her knee, which was still slightly trembling, and she blinked at him with puffy eyes. "What happened out there?"

Right when the words came out of his mouth, Rose's lips began to wobble and she let out a tiny sob. "Everyone knows," she mumbled as she hid under the blanket like a small girl.

Jack was confused, oblivious to the events that had taken place at the theater. "What does everyone know, Rose? You can trust me."

Sniffling, she peeked out of the blanket, bit her bottom lip, and told him, "That I'm not dead."

Jack was not surprised by what she had said. Of course he was concerned when she threw herself in his arms and started sobbing again, but he already knew it had to have been something bad that had made her act this way.

After a few minutes of rocking her and telling her everything would be all right, Rose pulled away from the embrace and said, "Stay with me tonight."

...

Josephine woke the next morning to a dull sky. The storm had passed, but it looked like another was brewing. It was the worst weather her mother had ever had on her birthday. Sighing, she got out of bed and her stomach growled, betting that she'd probably devour the whole pantry if she didn't eat something soon.

When she walked into the living room, she stopped and stared at the huddled figures on the couch. Her parents had fallen asleep in each other's arms, the fire once burning hungrily and fiercely now a pile of ashes. Smiling at the romance of it all, she continued to the kitchen, being as silent as possible as to not wake them up. She then took her meal and tiptoed back to the guestroom, where she closed the door and giggled and ate on the bed to her heart's content.

A half an hour after Josephine had woken, Rose opened her eyes. She had had a peaceful dream where she and Jack were young again, in a meadow full of bright, yellow flowers and mountainous scenery. They had lain in the long, flowered grass, Rose's long, red curls braided with blossoms, holding hands and talking about long ago promises. They had then proceeded to talk about the future, topics such as marriage, children, and ways of living and traveling. Rose had told Jack if they ever had a daughter, she wanted to name her Josephine, and they would take her to the Santa Monica Pier, where they would ride horses and roller coasters. She had told him that before they did that, though, they should travel the world. Then they could settle down in California and have all the children they wanted. It was a bright future, she told him, smiling pleasantly. She woke up with tears burning her eyes and the realization that her dream had not come true. She had stayed in New York since the _Carpathia_ had docked, and things were going to stay that way for a little while longer.

Jack's arms encircled Rose's waist, and she took his warm hand in her own and shook it gently. "Jack," she whispered, her voice a little dry, "wake up." Jack stirred behind her, and soon he was mumbling about a dream he had before wishing her a happy birthday. Rose pretended to listen before saying, "What happened to our promises, Jack?"

He looked at her and blinked, but not in an ignorant way. "You mean-"

"The ones we made on _Titanic_?" Rose finished for him. She took both of his hands and nodded. "Yes, those. Of going to the pier in Santa Monica, riding the roller coasters until we threw up, and riding horses right into the surf..." She trailed off and hesitated. "I miss our old lives, Jack. When we were young and so in love, and made promises to one another of dreams we'd always had. I'd like to relive those days."

Jack sighed, knowing exactly what she meant. He kissed her forehead gently, thinking; she closed her eyes and exhaling out of her nose also, reminiscing. "You know what, Rose," he said, "we'll do those things. What do you say about moving to California?"

Rose opened her eyes, which were full of excitement. "I'd love that, Jack!" she said before kissing him on the lips this time, her head full of giddiness.

...

Josephine was right about a storm brewing. It had started to thunder, and lightning could be seen whipping across the sky, sending bright flashes of light through the open windows that had expected sunlight. Squirming in the seat near the fire and glancing at her mother, who sat across from her in another chair, she put down her book and listened to the crackling of the flames, enjoying the sound. She then posed the question she'd been thinking of for a while.

"Mama?" she asked. Rose looked up from her novel. "I was just wondering... I know I'm a lot older now, but it's been kinda lonely with just me around, and-"

"Josephine," Rose interrupted, a knowing smile on her face. "Things will happen when they happen. I haven't even thought of having more children."

"Oh," Josephine said, looking down at her hands on her knees. "Okay."

Rose chuckled a little and sighed. "Josie, you've grown up fine without any siblings."

"I know!" Josephine laughed. "I know that. It wasn't an important question, I was just, you know, inquiring as always." Rose laughed and went back to her book.

Jack had gone out to work that morning, but he said he'd get home early, something about a surprise for the birthday girl. Josephine had giggled, wondering what it was, and Rose had looked at her quizzically and said, "What?" This had made Josephine laugh harder because she knew the surprise was not for both of them, even after Jack said it was only for Rose, and told her mother that.

Rose had blushed and declared that she was just making an inference by "Jack's gestures and care for her." Josephine had raised an eyebrow and repeated Rose's words. "Papa's 'gestures and care for you'? Mama, he's gone completely head-over-heels in _love_ with you!" They then both giggled and began making assumptions on what this surprise could possibly be.

"Maybe a wedding proposal!" Josephine had exclaimed, though Rose had taken it as a joke and said, "Aren't I a little old for that?"

Now mother and daughter were curled next to the fire, still warm and smiling from their joy.

Josephine was in deep thought when Jack entered. He motioned her out, his whole body tense with adrenaline, and Josephine took her book and excused herself, where she ran into the guestroom, ear to the door. _I knew it!_ she thought_. I _knew _it!_

Rose put her book down when she saw Jack enter. She had eyed Josephine carefully when she had left the room, wondering if this had anything to do with the "surprise." But Rose had been so sure it was for both of them, not just herself. Confused, she looked back at Jack, who had gotten down on his knees in front of her, making her laugh.

"Jack, what are you doing?" Josephine heard through the door. She bit her lip to hold in her giggles.

Jack didn't answer her question but took her hand instead. He gently caressed it with his thumb before kissing it. Rose giggled at his gesture, remembering when he first did that almost seventeen years ago.

_I saw that in a nickelodeon once and always wanted to do it._

"You know, Rose," he said, his heart pounding incredibly hard, yet he kept his composure, "you never officially became a Dawson."

Rose's breath caught in her throat. She knew where this was going. In the next few seconds he was going to pull out a ring, and then say those four words, "_Will you marry me?" _Those words that would change her life forever.

She had predicted it all, and so it all happened. Josephine wanted to scream, and though she wanted to be respectful and leave her parents alone, she couldn't help herself. She burst out of the door screaming, "Say yes! Say yes!"

Meanwhile, Rose's mouth had fallen open and she shook her head, a bright girn on her face, her expression full of disbelief. She then looked at Jack, his blue eyes full of nervousness and desire, widened her curved lips, and exclaimed, "Of course, Jack. Yes!"

...

The day had gone pretty well and was soon ending. Rose, Jack, and Josephine had gone out to eat for dinner to celebrate, getting all tipsy with food and drink. They were still laughing when they got home, but though they were tired they were awake. Josephine had immediately excused herself, too fatigued to stay up any longer, and Rose had plopped down on the couch. Her silver engagement ring with the sapphire and diamonds surrounding it glittered from the artificial light.

Jack, a smile pasted on his face, sat down next to her and took her hands in his, which wrapped around her waist. "Great day, wasn't it?"

Rose nodded and put her head on his shoulder. "It sure was."

All of the events yesterday had been forgotten. Rose had gotten away without a doctor, and her deep secret had remained enclosed.

...

Jack was awake in his bedroom finishing up a few things before bed when Rose appeared at the doorway. She sighed and looked down at her hands, which fidgeted with each other. "I miss you," she said, not meeting his eyes. She couldn't look away, though, and so she glanced up and smiled. She then wiggled her left hand at him, her ring sparkling. "Ever since this has been placed on my finger, I can't be separated from you for just a few minutes."

Jack smiled, his heart soaring. A woman had never told him that, for he had never loved anyone except for Rose. So that made him feel even lighter, that his only true love couldn't live without him for just a few moments.

Rose walked into the room and sat on the bed. She didn't say anything, and neither did Jack, who had gone back to sorting out his things on the desk. Pulling her legs up, Rose stayed like that, huddled on Jack's bed, waiting for sleep to overtake her.

Eventually Jack had finished what he was doing and left the room to prepare before retiring for the night, and freshen up after the long day in the bathroom. Rose had stayed in the bedroom, not leaving, and not planning to. She crawled under the covers and closed her eyes, even though she knew she would not go to sleep without Jack's warm body next to hers. She kept her eyes closed even when she heard his footsteps, the click of the light turning off echoing in the room, and the feeling of his body crawling into bed. She only opened them when he wrapped his arms around her, and they shared a small smile before drifting off to sleep.

And for once in her life Rose only flinched when she rolled over and put pressure on her thigh so she could get closer to Jack, too blissfully unaware to feel a thing.


	19. Secrets and Lies

_**Chapter 18: Secrets and Lies**_

_The diner had never been so packed, and Rose had never had to work so hard in the six months she had been there. She was still recovering from a nasty bout of flu that she caught last month after running foolishly into the rain. And now she had to be kept healthy; she couldn't take care of any deformities her stupidity could give her unborn child. _

_What she had done last month was practically suicide._

_Now Rose was chopping up some tomatoes, the runny fruit making her fingers sticky and sour, when there was a sudden movement in her stomach that made her jump and the knife slip. The blade promptly sliced her hand, and dark red blood quickly began to spill._

_She placed her wounded hand right over the place she had felt the tiny jolt. Her face was expressionless, the gushing cut causing her no pain. Her baby had just kicked; it was the first sign it had made of its growing presence._

_Then, a shrill cry pierced the air. "Rose!" Adeline shrieked when she saw the blood. Rose was shaken out of her reverie, and she didn't notice she was trembling until Alec was by her side with Adeline, staring at her with perplexed faces. As for Rose, she had no idea what to say. She let them wash the red liquid away and lead her to the bedroom so she could rest._

_Adeline disappeared right when Rose was situated to satisfy the many customers. Alec came bustling back into the room with a first aid kit, and he caught Rose in her shaken state as she stared emotionlessly into space._

_When he began to bandage the incision, Rose's tiny mouth opened a crack. "The baby kicked," she croaked, closing her eyes and letting tears fall on to her noticeable swollen belly. _

_Alec made no comment and finished wrapping. After he packed everything back up, he glanced at Rose, who was silently crying now. He then proceeded to exiting through the door, his mind still undecided on what to think about this little growing life inside her._

…

Josephine woke feeling groggy with the nagging pain of a stomachache. She had been so excited by her parents' engagement, she let it get to her. Annoyed, she pulled off the covers and noticed her mother never came to bed last night.

While walking out of the bedroom, she saw that Jack's door was wide open. She rolled her eyes and scoffed when she saw them, huddled together as though this day was their last. Though she found their romance sweet, she didn't want to experience it with them. So she left the couple alone and made some very caffeinated coffee in the kitchen.

Rose awoke in Jack's arms and never wanted to leave. Now that she'd convinced herself that feeling emotions was not bad, she wanted to be with Jack for eternity. Nothing could come between them.

Or so she thought.

She knew of her issues. She was aware of everything. Yet, she didn't want anyone to know. She thought of it as something silly and didn't need to be paid any attention. Josephine had been suspicious for years, and now Jack was catching on that something was indeed not right.

Rose sighed and gently pulled out of Jack's embrace, rolling over on her other side; her leg was throbbing. She began to refuse emotions again. He obviously remembered her sudden mood change when it came to the vase of flowers, and how she had denied showing him much affection for the first couple of weeks. Everything was such a mess, and Rose didn't know what to do anymore.

But she did know one thing. She would do anything to prevent her secret from slipping, even though she knew that eventually it would show…

And by that point, nothing could be done to save her from falling in.

...

The breeze was refreshing and cool that day - or so Josephine thought as she strolled in the park. She had her father's sketchbook under her arm; she was aching to draw again, and she also wanted to get an idea of what good quality, hand-drawn artwork was like by flipping through Jack's own. She was about to sit down on a nearby bench when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, Josephine!" exclaimed a familiar voice.

Josephine turned around to see no other than John Jacob Astor VI, but what he was doing in a place such as a park made her wonder. Instead of opening her big mouth and listing off questions, however, she clenched her teeth and smiled sweetly. "Hi, John."

He stood there dumbly, a strange smile on his face, and pushed his hair back over his head before saying, "Hey." He then shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to grin suspiciously.

"It's nice to see you again," Josephine said, making small talk.

"And it's great to see you again, as well," he replied. "What's that you've got there?" He indicated Jack's sketchbook.

"Oh!" Josephine blushed. "These are just some of my father's drawings."

"May I see?"

Josephine slid the sketchbook behind her back, as though it was something precious she was trying to hide - which it was, but it had no value to John. "Sorry, but I can't. You see-"

"Hey, Josephine," another voice piped up. "Who's this?"

Josephine sighed and blew strands of hair from her face as Galen entered the picture. She was still more annoyed with him than anything, especially since they hadn't talked for quite a while. "What are you doing here, Galen, talking to me? Where's Danielle?"

Galen shyly walked towards them and said, hands in his pockets, "I just wanted to apologize - _No, really apologize!_" he quickly added when he saw Josephine's expression "-about my behavior towards you a while ago."

"Oh, so _now_ you want to apologize?" Josephine slapped the sketchbook against her thigh as her face reddened. She was _that _close to punching him. "You hurt me, Galen, and you saw that I'd already experienced more in my life than any of you will in _two_ lifetimes."

"What do you mean?" John inquired politely.

_Nosy, _Josephine spat in her mind.

Galen looked at her quizzically and said, "You didn't tell him of your previous life, Josephine?"

Josephine looked away, unable to take the scene unfolding in front of her. "I didn't see the need," she spoke rapidly. "I'm in good hands now." She decided to elaborate and mumbled," Father, mother, art, everything."

"So you didn't tell your handsome beau here-" Josephine blushed "-that you used to con people on the streets because you were so penniless? Including me, though I trusted you." She couldn't read the expression on his face.

_Is this revenge? _she scoffed internally.

John's reaction was dumbfounded utterance. "I-is that true?" he managed to say.

Josephine swallowed hard – _Oh boy!_ – and sighed deeply. "Yes, John, but there's something you _both _need to know," she spat out, exasperated, and pushed them towards the nearest bench.

...

Rose was still shaken by the dream she had – of the memory of Alec – and, paranoid as she was, kept glancing down at the scar on her hand. But that didn't stop her from taking a well-needed walk with her new fiancé.

"You know, Jack, it's nice to get out. I really shouldn't worry about the whole 'undead' rumors. I was only hiding from Cal, but now—" She shut her mouth, remembering that she never told anyone of Cal's visit or her run-in with him a month ago. "Never mind."

Jack chose not to prod at Rose and, with a goofy grin on his face, pretended not to notice. "Listen, Rose, no more talk of that. You're free now, remember? You don't have a care in the world!"

_But yes, I do,_ Rose thought. She felt her arms trembling and crossed them at her chest to calm the sudden, powerful emotion that coursed through her veins. The white line embedded in her skin stared at her. There was her secret, the reason she was acting so strange, her-

"You're right, Jack. I shouldn't worry." Rose uncrossed her arms to hold hands with him, and they continued walking in content silence to the park.

When they reached central park, it was bustling with activity. They immediately spotted Josephine, who was giving what looked like a lecture to two boys sitting on a bench as she frantically moved about. Both young men had their foreheads wrinkled, and looked like they had had enough of whatever she was saying.

Jack pointed to the uncomfortable scene. "Who are those guys?"

Rose smiled to herself. She never thought she'd hear Jack, Josephine's father, get all worked up over two boys before. "That's Galen, the one on the left. He used to be one of Josephine's friends. And the one next to him is John Jacob Astor VI, you know, the son of J.J..."

Jack took Rose's hand and squeezed it. "Let's go talk to them, Rose."

Rose just laughed. "I knew you wouldn't like them!"

...

"So the logical reason that I had to con people was because it was something I'd been doing for as long as I could remember, and it all started with me because my mother needed the money to buy medicine - I was very ill when I was a baby, you know - for me, and so she turned to swindling because it was the fastest way to earn it!" Josephine took a breath before continuing her lecture. "You see, boys, I never thought being a charlatan was a good thing at all, but it was for our survival, and-"

Loud, familiar laughter interrupted her thoughts. She groaned and slapped her hand against her forehead. "You've _got_ to be kidding me!"

The last thing she needed was an interference by her young mother and supposedly dead father.

Galen pointed to someone in the near distance and said, "Hey, Josie, is that your mom?"

Josephine looked like she was about to strangle him. "You call me Josie one more time and-"

"Oh yes, it's Miss DeWitt Bukater. Or Mrs. Dawson, I should say." During Josephine's lecture, Galen and John had struck up a surprising, quick friendship.

Josephine sighed and turned around, and sure enough, Jack and Rose were laughing very hard about something, and neither seemed to notice they were in a public place as they showed obvious signs of affection, such as the brush of an arm or a kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, they are so gross!" she exclaimed under her breath as she waved her hand, plastered a fake smile on her face, and yelled, "Hey, Jack, Rose! Remember me? I'm your daughter, and I believe we are in a public place."

Rose tightly held on to Jack's hand, still laughing about who-knows-what, and shouted back, "Oh, hello, Josie. I hope we weren't bothering you."

Josephine sighed heavily and grumbled, "No, you didn't." She could hear Galen and John whispering behind her back, and she turned around sharply to glare at them. Jack came up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Josie, you seem upset. Maybe we should go home now."

Josephine let her father drag her away from the rich boys who'll never understand her pain, but watched as her mother walked up to them and began to talk. She didn't know what she was saying, and she didn't care anymore. She held on to Jack's hand like Rose had a few minutes ago, never wanting to let go.

...

"Josephine really cares about both of you," Rose was telling Galen and John. She was trying not to be forceful like Josephine had, deciding to take the unused tactic and hoping her carefree air would knock some sense into them instead. "She doesn't want you thinking bad things about her."

They couldn't look her in the eye, and she knew they were dismayed about the whole ordeal. Galen was still angry over the whole conning trade, and John was disappointed Josephine didn't tell him about her past life. "Wouldn't it have been easier if she told us both the truth?" he intervened.

Rose shook her head sadly. "If anything, think bad things about me. It was my fault she did what she did and lived like that on the streets. It's just, I-"

She stopped herself. She almost let go of her secret, and to practically a couple of strangers, too. Clearing her throat and taking a deep breath, she said, "It's really none of my concern anymore. I'm trying to tell you that Josephine doesn't want you to be angry or upset, Galen. And as for you, John, she doesn't want you to think of her badly because of what she's done." She looked over her shoulder, where Jack was pointing out some drawings to Josephine in the far distance, getting smaller and smaller. "I should go. My husband and daughter are waiting for me."

Rose left without a trace of her secret left behind.

...

Rose opened the door to their apartment and found Josephine and Jack drawing together on the couch. Each had their own pencil and paper, and kept glancing up at each other. "Now, remember, I'm looking down at the paper, not up, all right? I'm just trying to draw you, too, Josie," Jack said, and Josephine nodded, concentrating very hard on her work.

Rose smiled at the scene in front of her. Jack and Josephine had shared a special bond even before he knew she was his daughter, and it made Rose happy to think that if anything ever happened to her, Josephine wouldn't be alone.

Not that anything would. Nothing on Earth could tear this family apart.

_Except…_


	20. Stars

_**Chapter 19: Stars**_

The sky was like a painted canvas as the sun set that day. Rose moved a chair to the window and watched the many colors reflect off the darkening blue sky: red, orange, yellow, purple, pink. It was all so beautiful, and yet so small compared to all the world's wonders.

"Stunning New York sunset, isn't it?"

Rose moved her head around to see Jack standing over her, his eyes not on her, but on the phenomenon outside. "Yes," she said, looking back out the window. "It's gorgeous. But you can't see the stars in New York City. The only way to see them is at the park, or so I've heard."

Jack smiled at her, unable to take his eyes off her own now, which were now staring into his, those large pools of shimmering green with the hints of blue. He gave her his hand. "Come on," he said, firmly gripping her soft palm. "Let's go see the stars."

Josephine peered out of the guestroom door as she heard the front door slam, and a mischievous smile appeared on her face.

...

The young couple found a nice spot in the grass to lie down and look up at the sky. It was now dark, and the stars would be appearing any minute now. They still held hands, though there was no more need; but they never wanted to let go, knowing that if they did, one or the other would be gone. It was something of a habit: them holding hands, from experience. Neither wanted to lose each other again.

Rose felt as though she were normal once again; her strange behavior hadn't acted up in weeks, and she was happy. She wanted to fit in. She didn't want Jack to know that she was-

"Rose, look! Look! Did you see that?" Jack knocked her out of her reverie.

"Yes, Jack, I did!" Rose was amazed when she saw a shooting star fly across the night sky, quick as a whip. She smiled at a long ago memory and closed her eyes. "A soul going to heaven."

Jack squeezed her hand. "Did you wish on it?"

The scene suddenly became less playful and more serious. Rose reopened her eyes and looked at him. "Yes," she whispered. "Did you?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

The two stayed quiet for a moment. Then Rose started singing, "Come, Josephine, in my flying machine... And it's up she goes, up she goes..."

They both joined in, the melody ringing off the trees, but to them, they were the only two in the world. "Balance yourself like a bird on a beam... In the air she goes, there she goes...

"Up, up, a little bit higher! Oh, my! The moon is on fire...

"Come, Josephine, in my flying machine... Going up, all on, goodbye!"

They burst out in joyous laughter, their hands finding each other's and fingers entwining. Rose could only notice Jack's rosy face and how well he aged. Their past memories – spitting in public, the rambunctious steerage party, the nude portrait, and all their other intimate hours together – were brought up and reiterated like they were just yesterday and not almost seventeen years ago. To them, time had stopped, and she was that bright seventeen-year-old woman again and he was her twenty-year-old Jack Dawson.

She reached out and brushed aside a lock of runaway hair from his bright blue eyes. She longed to tell him of what her life had _really _been like the past few years, and not just what he assumed about it. How she always felt like she had betrayed Alec Thayer, though he had insisted that he loved her as a friend anyway; how she had forced Josephine into participating in such an illicit crime; and how her condition had never been treated, never been cured, and would eventually swallow her up until she was nothing.

Just like the madwoman she truly was.

She opened her mouth to begin her tale, but what came out instead surprised her. "I wrote letters to you, Jack," she choked out unexpectedly. She couldn't look in his caring eyes, not if she wanted to keep her secret. "A lot. Whenever I was stuck in bed vomiting from the morning sickness or when my heels were so swollen I couldn't walk…"

Jack couldn't bear listening to her describe what life after the Titanic had been like for her. The worst part for him was that he could've done something; he could've searched for her harder, found her sooner. Then she wouldn't have had to work up to her very last week of pregnancy, and her ankles would be salvaged.

"…I would write to you. I would tell you about how my day has been, how our baby was doing. But I hid a lot of things from you, Jack." She dared herself to look back up into those shimmering irises, praying that hurt was not reflected off of them. "Things I regret hiding in the first place. Not just then, but now as well…"

And before she could ramble on about what exactly was bothering her, she forcefully shut her windpipe. This left her tongue tingling and aching to say what was on her mind, but she wouldn't let it. Instead she leaned over and gave him an intimate peck on the cheek.

"And I'm sorry."

...

Meanwhile, Josephine had slipped out of the house with a wad of dollar bills in her hand. Silently running down the streets of New York where the fabulous boutiques were, the only sound was of that of her heels hitting the concrete.

"Ah, here we are," she whispered to herself, stopping in front of a small building and reading the sign: _Christine's Bridal_. She opened the door and listened to the familiar sound of a bell ringing.

"May I help you, miss?" the woman at the front desk politely asked as Josephine was instantly overwhelmed by the brightening white colors of fabric.

"Yes, I'm looking for a wedding dress for my mother," Josephine replied, her cheeks red from exertion. Her eyes sparkled from the wondrous sight; it was every girl's dream.

The clerk put down the magazine she was reading, her long, painted nails making clicking noises as they hit the counter. "Do you know her size?"

Josephine nodded. "If I didn't, why would I be here?"

...

Jack and Rose were laughing, their two different worlds merging into one as the past memories they shared together were remembered and brought up. "And the look on their faces when they opened that car door and we weren't inside!" Rose exclaimed, tears of bliss forming in her eyes. Jack chuckled when she said this, for he had found their reaction much funnier than Rose had.

"And then you...," Jack began, but his memory caught up, and his smile faltered a little. Rose's did as well, and she looked right into his eyes and said, clear as a bell, "And then I said that when the ship docked, I'd be getting off with you."

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and looked back up at the stars. Rose huddled closer to him, her arms now around his waist as she whispered in his ear, "And I meant it, Jack. I really did." She sighed, and let a tear escape her watering eyes. "I love you."

...

Josephine had been flipping through different textiles for what felt like hours until she found the perfect one. It was of divine lace, simple yet elegant. It came with a set of hair accessories, like clip-on pearls and a headdress with a veil. "It's perfect," she whispered to herself, and began to gather the materials in her broad arms.

"Is that all, miss?" the clerk chirped as she added up the total.

"Yes, thank you." Josephine was so excited that she had found the perfect dress for her mother, and she couldn't wait to see how Rose looked in it. And Jack would love it, of course, as he always did.

"Can we have her size so we could start putting it together?"

Josephine nodded before starting to explain to the clerk how she wanted to the dress to be prepared.

...

Jack watched as Rose toyed around with his fingers, a habit of hers when she was really thinking about him. "What are you thinking about?" Jack asked her for the heck of it.

"You," she whispered, and he smiled at the irony.

"You know, Rose, you have this habit of playing with my hands when you think about me," he told her.

"I know," she continued to whisper. "It's been so unbearably long. Without you, Jack…" She cleared her throat and hesitated, eventually deciding not to continue on with her statement. "I'm just remembering your touch."

...

Josephine got home that day near midnight, and found that her parents were still not back. Struggling with the large bag through the door, she then pranced across the floor and locked the guestroom door. Pulling the finished dress and accessories out of the tote, she slid them into a plastic bag and hid them in one of the boxes in the closet. Sighing with relief that her secret had not been blown, she pulled on her night gown and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

…

The night had disappeared so quickly for the young lovers that by the time they slipped back home it was past midnight. They had barely said a word the rest of the time, but Rose quickly and quietly retrieved the scrapbook that was so precious to her heart. On the last page was a series of envelopes, all addressed to no one in particular. She picked a random one and handed it to Jack before whispering a hasty good night and closing the guestroom door, bringing the scrapbook with her.

Holding one of the many memories they had never shared, Jack responded slowly to the letter. It was written at a time when he was a desperate man searching for his lost love, and a time when Rose was in his reach.

He stumbled to the couch and sat down to start reading the formidable note. He could barely help the eccentric thumping in his chest, and he questioned why he was so nervous in the first place. Maybe it was because these were personal memos of Rose's, something he shouldn't touch.

Before he could stop himself he tore open the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper. Inside was a series of neatly printed letters that, when he urgently made himself look more closely, formed crisp words. They were unmistakably Rose's handwriting.

_My dear Jack,_

_How I miss you. There are days when I wake up and I believe I am back at my mother's home in America, ready to be made a proper bride to you-know-who. Since the tragedy I could barely say his name, much less think of his face, for he made it out alive and unharmed. Every day I am held guilty at what I did to you; I let you freeze where you were. If only I had stayed in that lifeboat, or maybe if we tried to balance our weight…_

_But bygones are bygones. There are other things to be concerned about now, and one of them is our soon-to-be child. I was confirmed last week, and I have the bruises to prove it. I feel bad for making Alec feel like we had a chance, and I was pushed – though I don't blame him – for that, but even I didn't except the tiny miracle growing inside me. _

Jack stopped and reread the second paragraph again. _Alec? _he thought. _Who's Alec? _He decided to push the matter aside and just finish the letter so he could head on to bed.

_There are times when I cannot work, I am in such a daze. All I could think about is you, my previous life as a prim and proper DeWitt Bukater, and the horrific sinking. Alec claims that I start to shiver as though I'm having a seizure, but I don't know what he's talking about. All I feel is the numbing sensation of the icy water stabbing at my skin. _

_When the lifeboat picked me up, I endured a long morning where, as my body warmed up, I literally had a hole in my heart. I could barely process anything that was happening, other than the fact that we had been rescued. Climbing the rope ladder to safety, my eyes became unfocused and I fell into a sympathetic nurse, who soothed me and took me for a check-up. I spent a day in the infirmary before I was let out, and that's when I saw him. He was disheveled and worried sick looking for me, but I hid my face. I was no longer the woman I used to be._

_I just hope that our daughter – you see, I have this feeling that it's a girl – would have the same carefree spirit as you did. For now I need to get back to work._

_Love, _

_Your darling Rose_

It shocked Jack that he was not in a fit of tears. So that's what had happened to her when they were rescued.

Not that he noticed; his coma was no help. And he had seen her, though for a blurry second before slipping back into unconsciousness, walk away under the plaid blanket. His mind pleaded for someone to call her name, but he knew that that would be the last time he would see her.

Now that he had her back, he was determined to never let her out of his sight again.


	21. The Beginning of the End

_**Chapter 20: The Beginning of the End**_

Weeks passed on, and soon it was the cool days of September. It was still warm, but the summer days were slowly being replaced with the cooler mornings of autumn. Josephine had been planning her parents' wedding since the engagement, but neither had spoken of it since. Rose was too wrapped up in Jack's love to think about marriage, especially since seventeen years of her life she had been mourning for him and longing for his love and affection. Seventeen years had gone and went, and now here she was, in Jack's loving embrace again, something she never thought would happen.

If it hadn't been for Josephine.

Lately, Rose had been thanking her daughter over and over again for finding Jack for them. Now Josephine had her father, and Rose had her true love. Nothing could've been more perfect in their family. The past was completely forgotten.

Or so everyone thought. But the past was something that haunted Rose for more than a decade.

Her secret had been replenished during the time she had thought it had gone. It kept coming back, nagging at her, making her want to punch something or scream. She could still remember the incident her secret had caused last week.

Jack had offered Rose another opportunity for him to draw her again. She agreed, and settled in a chair, but Jack wanted her to move the skirt of her dress up, so she could seem "more young and carefree." Rose, who fingered the skirt, had her fingers run against the skin of her thigh, and she shuddered. The bonds that had kept her so normal the past couple months snapped, and she had yelled and fought and refused to be comforted in his arms, all on purpose. During her rage, she began to refuse Jack's hands on her waist, and she had punched him square in the face, making his nose bleed.

Stunned, he did nothing. He didn't swear, yell back, call off the wedding, or anything. Instead, he had watched Rose, whose hands had moved to cover her mouth; she, too, was shocked. Upset, she fell into Jack's arms, and had apologized over and over again, crying out her tears of frustration and anger and hurt, until she couldn't take Jack's lips on her hair, and so she had pulled away and said, "I'm sorry. I need time to think. Leave me alone." Locking the guestroom door, Rose fell on the floor in a tremulous heap and cried.

She had never been so upset in her life. It was embarrassing and cruel what she did, and she was angry at herself for punching Jack like that. He didn't deserve it, and she knew it. If it weren't for him, she would've been dead, or stuck in a boring marriage with Cal, not have felt love, nor have a beautiful daughter. If it weren't for him, it wouldn't only be her heart that would have eventually broken from the insanity of it all, but her soul. And everyone knew that hearts can be mended, but souls cannot.

Rose's time to think took days. She refused to be near or even touch Jack, and she ignored Josephine, who was soon wounded by her mother's behavior.

Jack and Josephine talked it over, and they both agreed that they were worried and confused. Jack had, of course, forgiven Rose; he knew it was hard for her after everything she's been through, and what had happened had been an honest accident. He also told Josephine that something from his words had bothered Rose, and that had been the reason she had acted so violently and strange. "Or maybe it was something else, like a sudden thought," he added. They then both quit on the topic and talked about art.

Today was the day they had spoken about it. Rose, now able to control herself and banish her shame, unlocked the door, saw Jack, and ran into his arms, running her fingers into his hair, not caring if she had interrupted their conversation. She needed him again; she needed to know that everything would be all right.

She then moved over to Josephine, who she held in her arms like the little girl she once was, thanking her over and over, until Josephine had pulled away with a forgiving grin on her face and said, "It's all right, Mama. You're welcome!"

The Dawson family then settled down at the kitchen table, talking and laughing like the old days, and Rose couldn't be happier.

...

"How's this, Papa?"

Jack, Rose, and Josephine went to the park that day to have an early dinner picnic, and to also finish the drawing Jack hadn't started of Rose. However, Rose refused to model on her own, and so she dragged Josephine into the picture. The two had worn their fanciest garments, and the sun hats they wore on their heads shadowed parts of their faces. This pleased Jack because it gave them more character. Now he was figuring out a way to pose them.

"Perfect!" Jack said when Josephine put her hand on the brim of her hat. They both flaunted their best neutral grins on the blanket and then tried to keep still as Jack picked up his charcoal pencil and began to sketch.

His hand moved easily against the paper. Whenever Jack's eyes were on Rose, she tried not to smile as she remembered the first time he had drawn her on the _Titanic._

Everything was going perfect. Josephine and Rose awed and gaped over Jack's drawing when he was finished, and afterwards they continued to talk about whatever random topic popped into their minds. They were talking about how funny the rich act during a party when Jack said, "Speaking of parties, Rose..."

Rose looked up at him innocently, her lips lifted at the corners in a sweet smile. Jack's face flushed a bit at how adorable she looked, but he forced these thoughts out of his mind and continued, "The art gallery I work at is having a large social gathering. Any modern artists who have their work displayed have to come. And I was thinking maybe you want to go... If it's okay with you, of course. I would love for you to be with me that night."

Later on, Rose thought deeply about his invitation that afternoon. She was unsure if it was a good idea... What if someone she knew saw her and wanted to know why she was thought to be dead all these years?

If she told them the truth, it would be a scandal in their eyes!

She decided to think more of the topic tomorrow before falling into an agonizing eight hours of sleep, reflections of her past haunting her dreams.

…

_Rose DeWitt Bukater's heart had been torn out and thrown into the freezing depths of the North Atlantic along with her true love those many hours ago. Three days had passed, and yet her shoulders still felt so heavy; she always had an urge to cry, always the same negative feeling towards life that she had never experienced before...until now._

_The date was April eighteenth, 1912. As the _Carpathia_ settled into New York Harbor, it carried __the approximate seven-hundred survivors of the tragic sinking of the R.M.S. _Titanic_, which had met its fateful end the morning of April fifteenth. Rose was one of the "lucky" survivors - if she would put it that way. To her, it had been a night of unbelievable events she would've never thought possible. And that was the night her young lover, Jack Dawson, died in her arms._

_It was so cold; so terribly cold. The water was below freezing when the ship went under the waves, pulling with it a total of fifteen-hundred people. And though they had both found a piece of debris that might just save their lives, it was only able to hold one: And he had risked his life for her that chilly morning. _

_Their breaths stayed suspended in the air, frost forming all over their bodies. They were encrustied with frozen shards and soaked by the lapping sea. It was a couple hours until a lifeboat had come back, but by then it was too late - Jack Dawson was dead._

_Or so she believed. She couldn't even look at the others pulled from the water, much less think about the possibility._

_As the horrible rain pounded on Rose's dark coat, she looked up at the Statue of Liberty with dark circles under her blue-green eyes. Never had she seen something so beautiful, other than the obvious love she had felt for that brave man she had lost. She was soaked to the bone, but she could care less; her soul was shattered into tiny glass pieces that could be mended, but not healed. Oh, never healed. For Jack had been her life those few days on the _Titanic_, and her words echoed in her hollow ears: _

When the ship docks, I'm getting off with you.

_Before she could officially sob like she had for twenty-four hours straight, a _Carpathian_ officer stood before her carrying a clipboard and an umbrella. "Your name, please, love?" he asked her, holding his pencil up as he tried to prevent his paper from getting wet. _

_Rose looked at him, her mind not processing the words at first. She stared at him for what seemed like hours, unable to understand, but it had only lasted a few seconds. "Dawson," she replied, looking back up at the cloudy sky. "Rose Dawson."_

_She had taken his name. No longer was she a DeWitt Bukater; her life as a Dawson had begun._

_Later that day, the first thing Rose did when she stepped on dry land was trip. She had knocked down a reporter in the process, and a bleeding scrape appeared on her knee as she was pitifully picked up by the crowd around her. _It feels so long since I've been on land! _she thought as she shook the stars from her eyes. _It all seems so strange!

_Mumbling thanks to the people who had helped her back up (they went back to anxiously awaiting the passengers, by the way), the reporter she had knocked over hastily got back up and tried to squeeze information out of her. She instead gave him a cold glare and swore in his face before storming off in a flurry of tears. Being overwhelmed was never easy for her._

_As she walked away from the ever-growing crowd, her legs began to pick up their pace into a fast-walk. Then a canter. Then a run. At that moment, all Rose Dawson wanted to do was run away from her problems. The image of her lost loved one sinking beneath the cold, clear water made her feel sick, and she just wished for all of it to go away._

_Taking ahold of a lamppost as her other arm nursed a cramp on her side, Rose closed her eyes and tried to stop the tears from falling. However, the force of her blocked emotions caused her knees to slowly buckle from underneath her, and she fell on the concrete pavement that shone like silver after the thorough rain it had gotten that night. _

_She sobbed till there was nothing left to do in the world._

_Finally opening her eyes, her nerves shaking from head to toe, she wiped away her dry tears, sniffed, and looked around her. A couple of people roamed the street she had fallen on, but none of those people cared for the young, sobbing woman who had fallen, heartbroken, on the cold floor._

_Biting her trembling lip and helping herself up by using the post, Rose managed to be back on her feet, and she dusted the small grains of rock from her skirt. Wiping her nose with her sleeve, she took a step into the black street, oblivious to the automobile hurtling in her direction. It wasn't until her deaf ears picked up the sound of a horn that she looked up, her eyes widening in shock._

_As the Renault came to a blood-curdling halt in front of Rose, who had jumped back in surprise and fallen on her bottom, scraping the palms of her hands, a burly woman she recognized did her best to convey grace as she stepped out. _

_"Why, Rose, darlin'! You're okay!" the woman exclaimed, tears in her eyes as she helped Rose up._

_It was Margaret Brown. "Oh, Maggie, it's great to see you," Rose said, though her voice was hoarse and weak._

_"What were you doing on the streets?" Maggie asked, concern in her eyes as she pulled away._

_Rose looked at her tearfully. "I have to get going." She then looked down at her feet and whispered, "Jack is gone." And then she bit her lip, as though the words hurt, which they did, sending her heart into a wonderful sting._

_She could practically hear Maggie gulp in distress, trying to hold in her excess tears, too. Putting a comforting hand on Rose's shoulder, she said, "I'm sorry, darlin'. Is there anything I can do to help?"_

_Rose smiled, but it felt forced and faux. "There's nothing left anyone can do for me__.__ But thank you." _

_The dress that clung to Rose's cold thighs made her shiver as she bid farewell for the last time and walked away to the poorer section of the city, the meeting with Margaret Brown, a _Titanic _survivor, being the lone reminder of the watery fate she had almost met._

…

"_What do you mean, she ran out the door and into the streets?" Adeline Thayer shrieked when her son frantically and guiltily told her the story of his recent fight with Rose, which happened to be a few minutes ago. "You know what the doctor said!" _

_Alec tried to calm the queasy feeling in his stomach that he could've killed Rose's bundle of joy – and maybe Rose herself. He remembered exactly what the doctor had said: That Rose needed to be kept calm and rested, for her body was young; also, past illnesses such as pneumonia and influenza made her vulnerable to the cold. He could quote the doctor word-for-word if he wanted to._

"_She freaked and I panicked!" Alec defended himself, explaining the situation. "Before I could stop her, she ran out with her cloak. It looked like she was heading to the cemetery."_

_Meanwhile, Rose had made it to the headstone marked for _Titanic_ victims unscathed, save for a few tears dotting her cheeks. Her swollen body felt like it had been pressed through a machine, and the discomfort showed on her face. Her back had begun to ache terribly since last night, and small cramps had taken over the baby's usual kicks. One hand rested on her tailbone, supporting her throbbing structure._

_At that moment, her heartbeat increased to a rapid pace. Sweat, though it was quite cold outside, made her face turn red. She was suddenly very afraid._

_Without warning a terrible pain that felt like a knife stabbing through her stomach made her keel over. That's when she felt the warm liquid travel down her leg, and now she didn't know what to do._

_Adeline slammed the empty pan on the counter, her strict eye catching her son's. "I want you to go out and find her," she commanded._

_He rushed outside, only clad in his clothes and a jacket for warmth, and ran as fast as he could in Rose's direction. By the time he got to the cemetery and pried open the gate, he saw the figure draped in white huddled in the snow._

_Alec could almost describe the horrific sight as a wounded swan. Her bare arm was twitching, and his face blanched when he saw the blood soaking the fresh snow._

_He ran to her side and checked her pulse. She was mumbling incoherent words, and her ears throbbed; she could barely hear a thing. Everything was dizzy and surreal._

_As frightened as he was, he was still able to pick her up in his broad arms and run back home, crying for help the whole way._


	22. Revelation

_**Chapter 21: Revelation**_

_It was a frigid January afternoon when the cry of a baby could be heard in the Thayer household. _

_"How is she?" Adeline asked with nervous excitement as the doctor came out of the room._

_The doctor, Dr. Jones, smiled widely. "It was a long and agonizing birth, but I'm happy to say that Rose has born a beautiful baby girl." Another infant cry could be heard out the bedroom door, which was closed to a crack, and Adeline peered behind Dr. Jones' shoulder in anticipation. "Can I see her?" she asked._

_Dr. Jones nodded and opened the door for Adeline, who first saw the tired, tear-stained face of Rose. She rushed to her side._

_Alec stood against the wall with his head hung low. "Is she all right?"_

_Dr. Jones' face held a serious expression. "The muscle was torn just slightly, but it can easily heal. Any larger and her life could've been at stake."_

_Alec's head seemed to get heavier along with his heart. "The argument was uncalled for." The doctor made no response to comfort him. But inside, Alec's stomach dropped like a heavy weight. The image of Rose worried and afraid and in pain, and the sounds of her screams would haunt him for a lifetime._

_Meanwhile, Adeline's smile quickly faded. "What's wrong, Rose?" she said worriedly__._

_Rose closed her eyes as though she was in pain, and her hair clung to her forehead from a cold sweat. In a choked voice, she replied, "Adeline, have you seen the baby?"_

_She blinked in confusion, and her previous happiness fluttered in her heart as the nurse handed the newborn to her with a proud smile on her face. "Congratulations, Mrs. Dawson. She's beautiful!" the nurse exclaimed. Her bright grin was almost contagious._

_But Rose couldn't look at her child. "Look at her," she whispered to Adeline, and so she did what she was told. _

_Adeline couldn't understand what Rose was so upset about; she never asked of Rose's story. The baby __was__ lovely, a very natural beauty for a newborn, with a small head of blonde curls, and dazzling blue-green eyes. She waved her hand around innocently, her face full of curiosity. "What's got you upset?" Adeline asked, still not understanding Rose's predicament._

_Rose shook her head sadly, her hand clasping the bridge of her nose between her eyes with frustration. A tear escaped their tightly shut lids. "She looks just like him," she cried._

_The next morning, the dream faded, and a new day commenced._

…

_One week later..._

Rose had agreed to go to the party, of course. She'd missed enough of Jack's life, and she didn't want to miss more. Josephine was invited to go as well, but Jack was worried about what the people there would think if he called Rose his fiancée and Josephine his daughter. After all, Rose had enough stress with the "scandal" she had pulled off for seventeen years, but was now revealed.

Rose was doing Josephine's hair when a shocking pain went through her leg. Biting her tongue to prevent herself from crying out, she switched her weight to her left leg so the pain would ease up and not be pressured. Heart thumping wildly, Rose added the finishing touches to Josephine's dirty-blonde locks and was about to sit down when the pain coursed through her again. Rose plopped herself down, almost madly; this made Josephine suspicious if something was wrong with her mother. When looking at Rose's eyes in the mirror, she saw fear in them.

Josephine gasped but asked no questions. She knew better than to question her mother. In any case, look at how she was treated when questioning her about her father.

Rose was adding some blush to her pale cheeks when Jack knocked and entered the room, wondering if everyone was ready. He also could read the emotions printed on Rose's face, and gave her a reassuring hug that said no one would dare insult her at the party for what she had done. That was the least of Rose's worries, but Rose herself only knew that.

She smiled when she entered the shiny, new Renault that would escort the Dawsons to the art gallery. She caught Jack's eye and winked, and she laughed to herself when his face blushed, his neck going red. Josephine, ignorant as she was to the whole story of her parents' past, saw their reactions and asked innocently, "What?"

Laughter bubbled up in Rose's throat, and she began to laugh so hard her face burned cherry red and her eyes stung with tears. After calming down, she saw Josephine's quizzical face and Jack's chuckling, knowledgeable one.

How good it felt to laugh and feel like there wasn't a care in the world!

...

Arriving at the party, Rose took Jack's arm and Josephine trailed behind. She disappeared, however, when she saw John in the distance, and now it was just them. Rose's heart thumped loudly in her chest, skipping a beat every so often. Jack, feeling her tension, firmly locked on to her elbow, hoping that his unyielding grip would reassure her that everything will be okay.

They mingled, laughed, and joked. Jack introduced Rose as his fiancée, and all the women fawned over her. Rose could pick out a couple people who might know her, but tried to ignore them. It was Jack's night, not hers.

Meanwhile, Josephine and John were taking a look around the gallery, Josephine pointing out her father's work in the process. She stopped when one certain drawing caught her attention.

It was a bittersweet memory. She had studied the piece of artwork intently, trying to figure out who the woman in the portrait was and why she had a feeling she knew her. It was what had led her to believe that Jack could be her father when she needed one most of all.

"What is it, Josephine?" John asked, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. She was mesmerized by the drawing, remembering, remembering...

"Yes, I'm fine," she managed to say, and broke her gaze from the glass and continued to walk.

The overwhelming feeling of her past life wouldn't go away. What a long night this would turn out to be.

...

Two hours into the party, and Rose was getting anxious and bored. Many people were asking Jack about his work, or making compliments, or giving him small job offers. He always respected them, never showed that he was tired or annoyed. Unlike Rose, whose leg was burning to numbness in her woozy head.

_A few more steps,_ she told herself. _A few more steps and then you'll tell Jack you have to sit down. _A few steps turned into more than expected, and soon she was limping, practically dragging her leg behind her.

Jack noticed something was wrong. He didn't ask at first. But when Rose began to hobble and put her body weight on Jack's shoulder, he knew he had to do something. "Rose, are you okay?" he asked alarmingly.

Rose shook her head, tears in her eyes. "I think I need to sit down."

"All right," Jack said in a quiet, smooth tone. He didn't want to scare her by being too forceful, so he pushed her tenderly along to the nearest chair, where she sat down gratefully.

It looked as though she had aged twenty years. A small sweat had formed around the crown of her head, and her legs trembled. Some of her hair escaped her bun. Her eyes wildly looked around her, and when someone passed, she shrunk into her chair, as though afraid of them. And the dark circles she tried so hard to hide with layers of makeup were beginning to show.

_Something's wrong. Terribly wrong,_ Jack thought, strangely feeling guilty. He dragged her into this when she was obviously not ready. He knew how sensitive she could be, and was about to ask her if she wanted to go home when a middle-aged man with a gray mustache interfered. He introduced himself as a Mr. Simmons, and began to talk to Rose as though angry but grateful.

"Miss DeWitt Bukater, it is a pleasure to see you again. How are you?"

Rose nodded her head weakly, clueless to whom this man was, and replied courteously, "I am quite tired, Mr. Simmons, but I really should ask how you are this evening."

The two continued with small talk, Jack watching closely. His ears dreaded what might be said, but he pushed this thought out of his mind as best he could. Anxiously playing around with his calloused fingers, he shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for the best time to intervene and drag Rose out.

"I don't mean to be rude – think of me as a curious stranger – but why did pretend you were dead all these years?" Rose's left eye twitched. Her expression was unreadable. "All of Philadelphia society was in an uproar from your so-called 'death'! Your mother was locked in her home for months!" It was the first time in a great while that Jack had heard of Ruth DeWitt Bukater's life after the sinking. "It's great to know that you are alive and well, but-"

He never finished his sentence. Before Jack knew it, Rose had slashed at Mr. Simmons, leaving a couple deep scratches in his cheek. She was screaming and yelling nonsense, and a very pale Mr. Simmons could do nothing about it as he was punched in the nose, a purple bruise already forming where her knuckles had met his skin.

Jack had struggled with getting a hold of Rose's arms, and by the time he did, Josephine had appeared and squirmed her way through the crowd, a horrified and worried expression on her face. She looked at Jack, and both knew that Rose's actions had gone too far. They were going to call a doctor.

Jack let go of Rose for just a second to help Mr. Simmons up, who was saying, much more calmly than Jack would have expected from his sudden beating, "I say! I am quite all right, thank you all! Curiosity killed the cat! But I think my nose needs a looking at, don't you think so, Madame Adelaide?" He turned to his partner, an older woman with gray streaks in her black hair, who was taking his arm gently and helping him up, shocked to the core.

Jack turned around to lead Rose out of the room, but she was gone. Josephine was busy apologizing to Mr. Simmons about everything, and so she didn't notice Rose had slipped out either. Panicked, Jack made his way out of the crowd and ran out the doors. It was a cool, windless night, humid in the air. Looking back and forth, Jack was unsure on which way Rose could have gone. Josephine appeared at his side, too, frightened as well. "I'll take the left, you take the right. If you don't find her in twenty minutes, report back to the gallery."

He nodded and set off.

He searched and searched. His heart began to ache so bad, he thought it would break. To see Rose act so strangely, almost abnormally, made him feel like it was his fault. That the fire his beautiful Rose had when she was that lively, rebellious seventeen-year-old woman had burned out.

Or maybe burst into unimaginable flames.

Her reaction to everything had been different from the few days they knew each other. She was definitely changed, as she told him those couple months ago. But why, exactly, was a mystery to him.

Twenty minutes later, he found no trace of a woman running down the streets. Arriving promptly back at the gallery, he ran into a sobbing Josephine, who immediately took his hand and started pulling him in the direction she had took. "Thank God you're back!" she cried. "It's about Rose. She's...she's passed out on the sidewalk, and there's blood everywhere... Oh dear Lord, it's a nightmare! She's screaming nonsense and is unable to get up!"

Before Josephine could make out another pathetic cry, Jack had released his grip on her and ran. And as he had expected, there was Rose, slipping from consciousness into bewilderment, babbling gibberish. Blood soaked the sidewalk, much more than the last time she had ran away, and Jack saw that it was protruding from her hidden thigh.

Slowly approaching her, he bent down and deliberately reached for her skirt. When she didn't attack, he pushed it away from her skin, and gasped in disgust, his stomach clenching.

"Josephine, call a doctor," he demanded. She was pale and looked like she was going to be sick. "Tell him to go to my apartment. I'll take Rose home." He glanced up at his daughter, who was frozen to the spot. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "Now, go!"

When she had gone, Jack looked back at his sweetheart and took her in his arms, not caring that her blood soaked his skin. "Let's go home," he whispered in her ear. Gently picking her up, he made his way to the apartment, fast on his heels.

The whole time he was thinking, _What could I have done to prevent this? Was there something I could do at all?_ To see his Rose in so much pain and agony killed him, and his mind numbed from pity and guilt.

_Why didn't I find out sooner?_

...

Jack paced around the living room, his thoughts swirling. He was worried, guilty, and afraid. He had lost Rose once... Would he lose her again?

Josephine sat on the couch, trembling. She was so scared that she would lose her mother, the one she's known since she was born, the one who raised her and wiped away her tears when she cried. Rose was both her parents to her, even if Jack was standing next to her right now. To her, Rose will always be her true family, the one she's always known, for her father was out of the picture for many years.

It was a cause of concern when the doctor exited the guest room and closed the door behind him. His expression showed signs that the news was not good, and the Dawsons paled. "W-will she be okay?" Josephine squeaked out, her legs now weak.

The doctor sighed and beckoned for Jack to follow him. Jack did as he was told, panic constricting his throat. He almost didn't want hear what the doctor had to say. So when the words were said, he didn't know what to believe.

"Mr. Dawson, I am sorry. But Rose has cancer."

Jack's heart clenched. His tears dried up. It was such a shock, he couldn't even breath. "How bad is it?" he managed to say.

The doctor shook his head. "Bad. The tumor's been growing for quite a while. I was able to get ahold of her medical records, and it said that she had seen a doctor almost a year ago. She's lucky to still be alive." He sighed, tired of being the bearer of bad news. "But it's too late to try and cure what she's got. The tumor broke the skin, and she's lost a lot of needed blood. Her time is short, and she'll need to stay in bed until the time comes. Think of it as though she's paralyzed from the waist down. If she walks on that leg, the stitches will break, and we don't want her losing more fluids." There, he had said it. And how the lad looked young, too.

Jack was more than hurt. He was wounded, from his feet to his brain. After all, what would happen to all the dreams he and Rose had planned? Will she ever live them like he had promised her?

"Is that all, Doctor?"

"No," he said. "There's something else. But it may be hard to believe, and will need some explaining before you protest."

Jack's face blanched. "What is it?"

The doctor sighed, tapping his pencil on the clipboard in his hands containing Rose's records. "She told me not to tell you, but it can no longer be kept a secret. The reason she's reacted so strangely to touch and refused emotion, the reason why she's acted violently without thinking... These were all tested after her daughter's birth after an anonymous request from a friend."

_Rose's secret?_ Jack swallowed hard. "Yes?"

"It goes back to these tests, and the results they gave," he spoke slowly and clearly. "And it was confirmed that Rose isn't exactly…_sane_."


	23. Explanation

_**Chapter 22: Explanation**_

"So, here's how it works."

The doctor, Mr. Burns, pulled out sheets of paper with the title _Mental Insanity. _"It starts out normal, all right? But let's say something overly traumatizing happens to this person. Then, _snap!_ Something clicks in that person's brain that will mentally never make them the same again. I'll use Rose as an example. She told me she was a survivor of the _Titanic_, yes? Well, the sinking did cause many people a cause for insanity. Some even did lose their sanity. Rose, however, was strong. She was heartbroken and lost, indeed, but that's only a small cause of her condition. She told me that in less than a year of the sinking, she got pregnant, gave birth, and went into poverty while her newborn was deathly ill. Now, if we put all these things together - the anxiety, the loss, the possible fate of it all - you get what Rose has gone through. She said she gave all her heart to her daughter. Meaning, in other words, that she loved her more than anything else in the world. So when it became life or death, that's when it all kind of clicked together and her sanity became lost in finding money for the cure."

Jack nodded maturely, though inside he was sinking in guilt. _It all made sense now._ "But why does this make her so sensitive to everything?"

"Well, all that came after the _Titanic_. After some talking, Rose said that she had been reacting differently when it came to a male's touch. It was because she thought she lost you, she said. She never wanted to love someone else, so her body became stiff and protective when it came to men. Same with her emotions. She thought she could never love again, and so she blocked these emotions out, and only left enough space for her daughter."

Jack gulped. It was all so crazy – _insane_ – that it was hard to believe. Yet, it all happened, and he was sure of it now. He remembered Rose breaking the vase of rose flowers he bought her, and how she declared she was a different person then. How ignorant he was. If he only knew, he would've found help sooner! Ignoring the lump in his throat, Jack asked, "What about her cancer? How long has she had that?"

Mr. Burns sighed sadly, his eyes drooping. He, too, was obviously worried and depressed from the ordeal. "The tumor's been growing for months. As I said, it's too late..."

Jack nodded, emotions swooping over him. He wanted to cry and scream like he did when he was little that it was all so unfair. _Life_ was so unfair...

Josephine was rubbing her temples, hunched over in a soft armchair, her mind whirling from the unexpected news. She thought she was going to faint; she already vomited twice. She was so scared, so traumatized. She thought she was going to go insane like her mother.

To her, everything was unreal. To Jack, everything was _too_ real. Rose was dying, and they all knew it, maybe even Rose herself, and she _never told anybody_. Not a soul. She had kept everything inside her, bottled up until it cost her life. To think that after a week or two, his Rose will no longer be with him... And he'd already lost her once!

He promised her riding horses into the surf at the Santa Monica Pier. Riding roller coasters until they threw up, and drinking cheap beer. He offered her a way to live life to the fullest, and in the end he never did. Instead, he left her, alone, to live a life of poverty and raise their daughter. _If only I knew... _he thought. _If only I knew..._

...

At the same time Jack and Josephine were being given the news of Rose's condition, Cal was returning home for a powerful speech he just given to help earn money for a local orphanage. However, despite his strong presentation, a strange feeling of powerlessness and guilt swarmed over him.

And strangely enough, Rose came into his mind. When they first met, she was courteous and lovely; and now she was nothing but a broken shell searching for comfort. She was dying and he knew it. It was almost just like watching someone cry out for help and ignoring their pleads.

He also felt bad that Eleanor had to watch him suffer. Even after he apologized and offered her his help like he planned, there was still something eating away at him. Anytime he caught his wife staring, he always wondered if she could secretly be jealous. After all, who ponders about this ex-fiancée for years?

At least he had his children. Though Louise was constantly making whiny comebacks, Harold was adjusting well and Katie was being the sweet girl she was. He tried to hide from them the cruel facts of his past life, but they all knew of his darling Rose. Harold caught him looking at a picture of them together during their engagement party in Paris longer than necessary, Louise accidentally picked up the medical records thinking they were her homework, and Katie overheard a heated conversation between her parents about some girl named Rose.

Eventually they had all approached him about it, and he was forced to give them the story. Even prissy Louise sat through it and took it maturely. In the end, none of the children knew what to think and retired to bed. To them, Rose was just a ghost story.

Just this morning he had gotten a telegram from a man he did not recognize. He introduced himself as Alec Thayer, and he told a story of a woman he housed who up and disappeared one day with her two-month-old daughter.

"She introduced herself as Rose Dawson," he said curtly. "And I know you know something." He then went on to explaining how a dream of hers that she always fantasized about was to visit Santa Monica. Afterwards, he handed him the telegram and, before leaving, said that if he could fund the trip for his ex-fiancée, it would be most appreciated.

That night Cal planned on writing the check and sending Alec Thayer more than he asked for.

Soon the eccentric feeling passed, and it was replaced with something much more pleasant. Finally, Cal was at peace with himself.

…

Josephine was sobbing by the time Mr. Burns left. After his explanation, he went into the guestroom to tell Rose the news. Ultimately, loud, strangled sobs were coming from the walls. This triggered Josephine's tears, and soon Jack was crying silently as well. It was all over. The secret was out, and now all they had was time.

_Time... Time... Time..._

One month, Mr. Burns said. Two at the most. And then Rose will be gone, and it'll just be Jack and Josephine, mourning for the woman who meant everything in their lives.

Rose's sobs were receding. There was deathly silence after a few minutes. Jack, wanting - no, _needing_ - to talk to her, knocked on the door and came in without waiting for a response. There was Rose, curled up in the bed, her eyes red and puffy from tears. She was convulsing slightly; she cringed every few seconds because of the pain in her leg. The doctor had instructed her to not cover it, to let it air out, and the discolored lump was visible from under the wraps of gauze.

Rose didn't acknowledge Jack, not even when he sat down on her bedside and took her hand. His touch made her burst into tears again, and she let him pull her into a long, meaningful hug without fussing. He kissed her head over and over again. No words were said; none were needed.

Their time together was limited. Jack was determined to spend every last minute with her.

...

Josephine stormed into the room and into her mother's arms in record time. "Mama, Mama, Mama...!" she exclaimed over and over again, her eyes in tears. She never felt so clingy to her mother in her whole life; she never wanted to let go, never wanted to leave her side, even if it was for a second.

The sight of Rose's tumor made Josephine nauseous, but she could've cared less at that moment. She had such little time left with the woman who gave her life, and she was certain she wanted to make each of those minutes count.

After all, what would become of them all in the end?

...

"What the doctor said was true," Rose began her story. "After leaving the _Carpathia_, I foolishly went into an ally and was attacked. But a brave man named Alec stopped them from doing much harm, and he then let me stay in his home with his mother Adeline and work at his family's diner until the baby came. I was treated well. I believe I led Alec on into believing that there could've been a more intimate future for us, but when I figured I was pregnant, that idea was shattered. Even though we fought, we still had a great time together, even when I was too big to do anything.

"I suffered from minor pneumonia after docking from the Carpathia, and the doctor said that because of my young age and current condition I needed to stay safe, especially during the winter. However, Alec and I fought one day, and I ran stupidly out into the rain and caught the flu. I was five months along then. After that day, running away has been my main reaction when things became unpleasant.

"It wasn't until I was up to my last week of pregnancy that Alec and I got into the worst fight of all. He was still angered by the fact I wouldn't tell him anything of my past life, until I let it slip that I was the ex-fiancee to Caledon Hockley, the supposedly 'deceased' Rose DeWitt Bukater. It made him even more upset because I lied that I was recently widowed, and he called me unsavory names which got me hurt and insulted.

"So I bolted out the door and to the cemetery, a place I would go to whenever I felt alone. I went into labor right then, and I thank God that Alec ran after me. I apologized as we waited for the doctor about lying to him and saying I was widowed and traveled second-class on the _Titanic_. I was going to give him the whole story, but the pain was too much. I tore something, and suddenly panic for the safety of my child settled in.

"Alec told me that he looked through all those stupid newspapers that printed pictures of me, and gave reward if I was found, as him and Adeline waited. After Josephine was born, he told me that he wouldn't dream turning me in. Instead, he invited me to stay until I was able to get up on my legs again. It wasn't until Josephine got sick and I started acting strangely that he called the hospital up for some tests.

"I remember being so angry with him. I trusted him, and he let them poke and prod at me like I was some animal. Once the tests were done, I took Josephine and rented out my own apartment in the poorer section of the city. She was still sick, and I had nothing to offer her…

"She almost died. I was so scared on losing her, Jack, because I thought she was the last memory I had of you. When she began to grow, it was like looking at a picture frame: sShe looked so much like you, Jack, and she still does. I raised her with all my heart, taught her what was right and wrong, except I introduced her to conning, so she got the idea it was a technique for survival, not necessarily bad or good... And that's my story.

"The first signs I had of losing my sanity, bit by bit, was on the _Carpathia_. Once a man put his hand on my shoulder, thinking I was someone else, and I cringed from his touch. After that, I tried to isolate myself from people in general. I stayed in a secluded environment on the ship until we docked in New York. Even after Alec hired me, I tried to find work, and I did. I was a set designer for a small theater and a waitress on the side. One of the workers, a man named Robert, liked me in a way I told myself I never would again, and that was the second sign. I had denied all emotion. He asked me out for dinner once, and I had thrown a wet paint brush at him. Furious, he had gotten me fired by using my delicate condition and insane temper. I stayed in the Alec's home since then.

"After Josephine was born and became sick, I was near the brink of insanity. I had kicked myself out on the streets. I survived a sinking ship, thought I lost my true love, got fired from every job I tried to hold, and given birth to a sick child, all in less than a year. Not wanting to lose my daughter, I turned to the art of deception. I would give up anything for you, Josephine..."

Rose was fully sobbing now, all the words coming rapidly out of her mouth. Eventually she was able to take a deep breath and whisper more slowly, "To me, you were all I had left."


	24. Bittersweet Memories

_**Chapter 23: Bittersweet Memories**_

Rose knew too much about suffering. After what she had been through, she thought that finding Jack would mean a life of no more pain or sorrow. She had been wrong. She underestimated the disease.

She was stroking Josephine's hair; she was curled up next to her, slowly falling asleep, while Rose finished her story. Jack was falling into a slumber on a chair next to the bed, holding her hand. "...And then the pain started. I first ignored it, but then I got it checked out and it was diagnosed as cancer. They offered me treatment; however, I couldn't afford it-" Rose yawned, sleepy herself "-and so I told them no. I ignored it every day, but then the lump starting swelling. I would bandage it up every morning before Josephine got up. By the time Josephine found you, Jack, I knew it was too late. Death, though, was too unrealistic for me and my insane mind. It was too late... Too late for me, and..."

Rose didn't finish her sentence. She was passed out cold on the bed.

...

Her story was told, so now what was left? How could she make her last days count confined in bed? Telling Jack her concern, he came up with an idea.

Josephine went to a local art store and bought a series of popular scripts. Jack sharpened all of his art utensils. The pair planned days of fun and, well, making it count.

Rose was surprised when Josephine, elated, jumped on her bed like a little girl and started reciting lines from a script. She gave her a copy, and the two of them reenacted a comedic play. The day ended with a filling, homemade dinner, and some quality time reciting old stories of their time together. Jack was by their side the whole time. Mother and daughter fell soundly asleep next to each other, Josephine still in her day clothes.

The next day, Jack brought in his art supplies and gave Rose a blank, new sketchpad. Shocked, she laughed, "What's this for?"

"Today," Jack said, handing her a pencil, "you're going to be an artist."

They sketched the day away. Jack led Rose's hand over the paper when she was having a hard time, and though Jack's drawings were more experienced, Rose's weren't that bad. She almost forgot she was ill, and Jack the same. Like the night before, Jack and Rose talked of stories long ago, when they were young and unafraid, and recounted their beautiful love story word by word...

…

_She took his hand, warm and reassuring, before turning around, making sure her feet were firmly planted on the rail. She blinked away any excess tears. And that's when her eyes met his._

_They interlocked. All traces of emotion disappeared from both of their faces. It was only them at that moment, the only two in the world._

_"Phew," he finally said, a handsome smile appearing on his face, making her blush. "Jack Dawson."_

_"Rose DeWitt Bukater." The corners of her lips turned upward as she stared at him curiously__._

_"I'm gonna have to get you to write that one down," he joked, and she laughed, a sudden, warm sensation spreading over her. It was something she hadn't felt in a long time; and at that moment, her problems flew away._

_..._

_"You have a gift, Jack. You do. You see people."_

_"I see you."_

_Rose smiled and tilted her chin up, creating herself to look royal. "And?"_

_Jack's voice was caught in his throat when he fully recognized her beauty at that moment, but it only lasted a second. "You wouldn't have jumped."_

_..._

_"Teach me to ride like a man."_

_"Chew tobacco like a man."_

_"And spit like a man!"_

_"What, they didn't teach you that in finishing school?"_

_..._

_He kissed her hand, their eyes never leaving the other's. Rose giggled happily to herself. "I saw that in a nickelodeon once and always wanted to do it."_

_..._

_She took a deep breath, a queasy feeling in her stomach as she ascended the stairs. That's when he turned around, a determined, yet comedic, expression on his face._

_"So you wanna go to a real party?"_

_..._

_He spread her arms out at the rail, her hands the perfect shape to fit in his. He just let them linger there, interlocked, and put his head near her back, feeling the loving warmth radiate off of it. "Okay," he said, letting his hands trail down to her waist. He had never felt so much emotion for a person in his whole life. "Open your eyes."_

_She opened them and gasped in delight. "I'm flying!"_

_..._

_Looking back up at him, tears in her eyes, realization hit her: She couldn't go. Struggling to get up in the crowded lifeboat, she made her way to the edge and jumped out, clinging to the rail for support, letting the men nearby pull her back over. "Rose!" she heard him cry, and that encouraged her to pull herself over and push everyone out of the way without a thankful glance. She had to be in his arms again, for it might be the last time that she ever would._

_Jack, meanwhile, emotionally clobbered down the Grand Staircase and into Rose's arms. A woman had never done something so life threatening for _him_ before... No woman had ever shown him this much need to be with _him_..._

_"Rose! You're so stupid. Why did you do that, huh? You're so stupid, Rose. Why did you do that? Why?" Jack kissed all over her face, tears filling his eyes. He loved her so much... Would this be the end of them all?_

_"You jump, I jump, right?" Rose said, pulling away from his embrace to look into his eyes. Her green irises were smothered with tears of joy. She knew she couldn't be separated from him, not in a moment like this._

_"Right." Jack smiled weakly, and pushed a strand of hair away from her face, his heart thumping lovingly in his chest._

_Rose threw herself in his arms again. "Oh, God! I couldn't go. I couldn't go, Jack," she said, her voice muffled in his shirt._

_"It's all right. We'll think of something," he reassured, rubbing her back soothingly._

_"At least I'm with you," Rose sobbed out, her heart swollen with fear for the one she loved. _

_"We'll think of something," was all Jack was able to say as he held his sweetheart in his arms, never wanting to let her go._

_..._

_The ship was tilting at a rather dangerous angle, the stern rising higher and higher into the sky. Through the madness and chaos, though, she looked up at her first true love and declared, "Jack, this is where we first met."_

_And it was, for they held on to the railing at the very end of the sinking steamer. Jack kissed her forehead passionately, a sign that tried to tell her that she would be all right. Rose held on tighter to him, trying to escape her fear for the end, because at that point the ship still rose higher in the dark, midnight stars._

_..._

_Jack was right. The water really was cold, like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. So thought Rose as she held on with her life to the piece of debris Jack had sacrificed for her. They both tried to get on, but it had only tipped over from their weight. Rose knew that if she died, she didn't want him to live on, or die also, without him knowing what she felt. "I love you, Jack."_

_Jack looked up at her, his lips a deathly blue. __She was giving in to the frigid night. __"Don't you do that, don't say your good-byes. Not yet, do you understand me?" _

_..._

_"Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me... It brought me to you. And I'm thankful for that, Rose. I'm thankful. You must do me this honor. Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose, and never let go of that promise."_

_"I promise."_

_"Never let go."_

_"I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go."_

_..._

"Come, Josephine, in my flying machine... And it's up she goes, up she goes... Balance yourself like a bird on a beam... In the air she goes, there she goes... Up, up, a little bit higher... Oh, my! The moon is on fire... Come, Josephine, in my flying machine... Going up, all on, goodbye!"

Josephine started giggling but Jack hushed her.

Rose had fallen asleep in Jack's arms, small tears of remembrance faded on her cheeks.

Her previous reality was now all a dream.

…

Each week that passed meant another day closer to never waking up. Rose had already learned to accept her fate, but she didn't know what else to do around the house besides sleep. Josephine needed some fresh air and took a stroll in the park, and Jack went back to work. There was only a limited amount of things she could being bedridden as she was.

Rose had barely looked at herself in the mirror since the day she learned she would die, but she knew what she must've looked like: Limp, dead hair; sunken eyes; dark circles; hollow cheeks. Already the weight loss she had been experiencing for a while was really showing, and when she was really bored she would count her rips or the bumps on her spinal cord.

The doctor had let them borrow a wheelchair if there was anything she wanted to do as a last wish. She only used it to get up and bath her sallow skin. She rarely ate; what was the point anymore? And then there came a knock at the door that bashed her out of her depressing thoughts.

Crawling into the wheelchair, she exited the bedroom and put her ear on the door. "Who is it?" she asked, unable to look through the peephole.

"Rose," came a desperate voice she could only recognize as her ex-fiance.

She sighed audibly and paused to think. She didn't see the harm in letting him in, but she wondered what his reaction would be when he saw the dying light in her eyes. "Come in," she replied firmly while unlocking the door.

The first thing she was met with was the bullet hole of a pistol. "Cal!" she screamed as panic set into her eyes.

He had bust in so quickly, she didn't have time to get a good look at his disheveled appearance. There was a crazy glint in his eyes along, his hair so neatly slicked back in pomade was a mess, and clothing was a little scruffy. He kept the gun pointed at her head as she wheeled back and he closed the door behind him.

"You fool!" he yelled at her. She kept trundling back, and didn't stop until the back of the wheelchair hit the wall. As he approached her, he did a very familiar action – he flipped the coffee table right in front of her tear-stained face.

He whacked his free hand on the arm of the chair, which made Rose flinch. The gun was still precariously aimed at her pounding skull. "I could've saved you," he hissed. "But instead you let me watch you die."

He lifted his free hand, making it look like he was about to slap her, and Rose shut her eyes tight. She didn't want to relive this. But when the throw didn't come, she reopened her irises and was shocked to see the unbreakable Caledon Hockley in tears.

Her blue-green eyes widened in disbelief as his knees gave out from under him and he fell on the floor. "It may not have seemed like it, but I loved you," he choked out, shaking his head sadly. "I've loved you for so many years."

Rose, who was shaking hard, expected that the next time he would look straight at her the hate and anger would be gone. But she was wrong. Cal came back up and started to wave the hand with the gun everywhere, exploding his rage on her. How she never appreciated what he did for her. How she ran away because of some silly affair. How she stole his priceless diamond necklace and he wanted it back.

Then he officially lost it and collapsed on the ground, his head in his hands.

When Rose found it was safe to approach him, she rolled over to his side and pried the gun out of his hands. "What's the matter with you?" she said with a tremulous voice. "Are you trying to kill us both?"

His hand shot up and grabbed her wrist, making a horrified gasp escape her throat. Her breathing came out in rapid breaths, and hearing that innocent sound made his grip loosen and fall. "I lost all my money today."

Rose scoffed. "I should've known this had to do with that well-earned fortune of yours," she uttered sarcastically. "At least Jack deserves his wealth." She turned around and started to veer to the kitchen.

However, his next words caught her off guard. "I came to say good-bye." She slowly turned her head to look at his unreadable expression. He had stood back up firmly on his feet. "For the final time." He kicked the remains of the coffee table and shoved his hands in his pocket. "Imagine never hearing from me again." A wavering smile appeared on his features, making him look vulnerable and hurt.

But Rose had enough his sympathy. His intentions have gone back and forth so many times, she no longer knew what his real purpose was. "Oh, Cal, _please_," she spat, wheeling back around to face him. "You know just as well as I do that you never loved me."

Cal made no attempt to defend his pride, so Rose continued. "You've only been a burden in my life. You've always restricted me from doing what I wanted. I guess there's only one thing to thank you for, and that's for letting me get away with my little affair."

Right when the words came out of her mouth, Rose regretted it. But there was no way of taking them back. She watched as Cal's hands clenched into fists and began to shake, his jaw tight against his teeth. "You thank me for letting you get in this situation?" His voice wobbled angrily as he spoke. He slowly started to approach her. "Then let me give you my condolences." Rose's grip on the gun tightened, and then he started yelling at her about her inappropriate choices, her illegitimate pregnancy, her little play date with Alec, and her stupid decisions on what to do with her illness.

It wasn't until he started to badmouth Josephine that she aimed the gun and fired without thinking twice. Insults to Jack she could take; but she couldn't stand hearing him berate her innocent daughter's pride. The gunshot echoed across the small apartment, making Rose shudder. She let the gun drop from her grip and hit the wood floor. Tears pricked at her eyes as she looked at Cal's lifeless body, and the bloodshed she had created.

She rolled over to his side and kicked his shoulder. "You knew it was going to happen," she whispered in his dead ear before bending over and retrieving the gun, laying it in his hand as blood poured out of his motionless head.

Next she took action, wheeling away from his body and letting out a disturbed scream. As a neighbor came by to answer her distress, he saw Cal fallen on the floor and yelled for someone to call the police. He approached Rose's side and tried to coax information out of her, but she refused to speak as the reality of it all hit her and made her tremble in horror.

As the police came and inspected the crime scene, they pushed it aside as suicide, which Rose agreed with. Maybe she really _was _insane, stupid tests or not. But there was one thing the inspectors would never know:

Out of coldblooded defense, Cal was killed by his ex-fiancée.


	25. Disappearance

_**Chapter 24: Disappearance**_

A week had passed since Cal's apparent suicide, and after hours of crying guiltily into Jack's arms, life went back to how it was before the incident. They pushed aside reading any article about Cal's death, Rose feeling too shamefaced to know how his family had reacted to the tragedy.

Though the days were getting short, Rose was holding up. Jack and Josephine had been doing their best to make the last of her days count, pushing aside the horrible accident that had happened in their home. But since neither cared much of Cal, they kept their minds on Rose. And to know that someone you cared so much for was dying made everything seem so delicate, so fragile...

So thought Josephine as she settled in a park bench and burst into expected tears.

For the past few days, she had felt like she was walking on a tightrope. She couldn't do anything but move forward, and if she tried to move left or right, she'd fall. She just couldn't accept the fact that her mother, her guardian and best friend for the past sixteen years of her short life, was dying from something as cruel and viscous as cancer. And not only that, but mental insanity as the cherry on top and a suicide witnessed as the whipped cream.

Josephine cried out all her tears until there were no more, and soon she was only making sniffling noises. She no longer saw the world as a place she could be free and do whatever she wanted and _make each and every day count._ She now saw it as a fateful planet where things died and disappeared and never came back, no matter how much they were missed or mourned for.

What was it her mother always told her when she was little? When Josephine was young, she had picked tiny bugs or kittens off the streets. She'd keep them as pets, and when they died, her fragile, tiny little heart would break and she'd cry in her mother's lap. "Now, now, Josie," she had said. "Dry up all those tears. Everything happens for a reason. Do you think Mittens-" Josephine's first pet kitten "-would want you to cry over and pity him?"

Josephine had shook her head and squeaked, "No, Mama, he wouldn't." Then Rose had smiled, took out a soiled handkerchief, and dabbed away her tears. "Always move forward, Josie, always. Never let go of those good memories, but don't hang on to them, either. Never let go but always move forward."

The memories were sweet in Josephine's mouth. They made her tongue tingle and her heart swell. Her darling mother, who, even through her insanity, had a big heart, though it had been broken and mended and left with a scar. That scar had been reopened recently with the run-in with Cal, but hopefully, Josephine thought, Rose would put that aside and die in peace.

A hand was felt on Josephine's shoulder and she jumped. Noticing who it was, she snapped, "What do you two want?" She turned back around and crossed her arms at her chest, not looking either in the eye.

"We came to say we're sorry, Josephine. More than anything, we're sorry," Galen said while taking a seat next to her.

"Yeah, Josie, we heard about your mother and came to give our sympathies," John spoke while taking her hand.

She pulled it forcefully away. "I don't need your compassion. Don't you see I need to handle this by myself?"

They shrugged their shoulders, gave their last few words, patted her back, and left.

Never before had Josephine felt so alone.

...

Rose felt strangely weak today. It was a feeling that deprived her from her previous elated mood after Cal disappeared for good from her life. Now her face was full of worry, yet she was calm. She knew that dying young was always a tragedy, but for her she was ready to die any day knowing that she had made a difference in more than one person's life.

She drummed her fingertips on the bedside table, contemplating, thinking of a plan. She loathed, absolutely loathed, seeing the pity on people's faces or the fact that her family was seeing her suffer. The doctor had come in every day to re-bandage her wound, and she could see the deep compassion in his eyes. _He must do this stuff every day,_ she thought as the needle went in and out of her skin. _Why is my ordeal so bad? Because I'm insane, as well?_

Jack couldn't take a day off work again, so he had to leave, but promised her while giving her a kiss on the lips that he would be back early, and as soon as possible. He couldn't miss a minute of Rose's time.

Strewn across the walls were drawings the whole Dawson family drew, scripts pinned to the wallpaper. Rose had taken the time to look through her scrapbook thoroughly, thinking it would be her last. Then she had set it aside, put an expensive diamond necklace inside it, picked up a pen and some paper, and began to write.

She wrote until her hand ached. It was a letter addressed to her daughter, her precious Josephine Emma Dawson, named after her and Jack's favorite song and also her grandmother, who had loved her very much during her childhood. Folding it and sticking it into the scrapbook, she began to proofread the other letter she wrote, one addressed to her darling Jack.

Jack. He had saved her in so many ways. He had taken her under his wing when she thought she had nobody. He had taught her to live in more ways than one. She knew that today may be her last, and she needed him to understand that she loved him. She loved him ever since she first set eyes on him, like he with her. She still loved him even though she knew he would never come back, and she didn't think of it as a scandal to have his daughter. Instead, she thought of it as a gift, a way of remembering her Jack and how much their love still burned, though one will be gone. She remembered how when she first held Josephine in her arms, she had burst into tears and kept repeating these words: "Oh, Jack, she looks so much like you... So much like you..."

Then he did come back. He had lived that awful night, and their beautiful daughter had brought them back together. Now here Rose was, dying in her bed, no longer afraid. She knew Jack loved her, and she didn't need him to say so. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he held her, even in the way he looked at her when she refused his affection those many months ago. He got the giddy case of love at first sight, and it had stayed with him. Infested his heart to the point that he couldn't be cured, that he would always and only love her. For as long as he lived, it had to be her, even if she denied him and never loved him back. But in the end, she did love him, and their fairy tale was supposed to be happily ever after...

It never happened, their happily ever after. Their promises and dreams, they never transpired. Rose never got off the ship with him, he never took her to the Santa Monica Pier. In fact, both thought the other was dead for so long. The only promise they kept to each other was to never let go, and that was enough for Rose. She didn't need kept promises or existed dreams for her to know that he loved her.

Rose was in silent tears by the time she was done reading the letter. She set it down on the table next to the scrapbook and fell into deep reverie.

She wondered what would've happened if they did leave the ship together; if the _Titanic_ didn't sink, and they had gotten away. If they officially got married, and she didn't just take his name. If they had more than one child, what would they look like? Would they be bold and adventurous like Jack, or stubborn and passionate like their mother? Would the past seventeen years be different if Jack was by her side to raise their daughter? How different would Josephine be?

She thought and thought and thought. She assumed and wondered and asked herself, "What if...?" until she found her eyelids drooping and her mind falling into a deep slumber.

...

Josephine felt guilty for dismissing Galen and John when they were just trying to comfort her in a time of need, so she set out to look for them in the park, praying that they were still around. Some people gave her questioning looks when they saw her tear-stained cheeks, but her eyes were too busy looking for the familiar pairs of brown and blue eyes.

She saw them talking in the distance with worried expressions. "G-Galen!" she choked out and started running towards them, holding her skirts up so she wouldn't trip. "John!"

They looked up at her with relief in their eyes. She threw her arms around both of them. "I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry!"

...

Jack was getting impatient and angry. He was only supposed to work the first two shifts, but two turned into four, and then six... It was getting late, and he only saw Rose this morning! _She could be dead right now! _he thought, swearing to himself. _I need to see her, and soon._

Clenching his teeth and squeezing his hand into tight fists to control his anger, he continued to listen to a woman's question about Monet, his thoughts thinking of his darling Rose, and how he had stared at that Monet painting with the lily pads for hours on end, wondering why she had to leave him alone on this earth.

Then she had come back, alive but unwell, and he had promised to himself that he'd never let her out of his sight again. Thus that made Josephine his daughter, and that had surprised and shocked him, though that possibility was never out of reach. En route, he asked her to marry him, and then a few weeks later he discovered that Rose was mentally and physically ill and dying, and that the lives they planned together under a starry sky that one night was for nothing: They will never be achieved.

_It wasn't for nothing!_ he forced himself to think. Anything he ever did or told Rose was not pointless. It had meaning, undeniable meaning, that their love was pure and real. Jack agreed with that till no end. He loved Rose, and always had. He never wanted to love another woman, no one except Rose.

That day, he made another poetic promise to himself: _I will stay with her until it's all over, and she'll be just a memory in our midst, her body the living proof that she was real and always will be, but just in a different place: our hearts._

...

Rose woke to a setting sun. Dark clouds filled the sky in the horizon, and she knew a storm was coming. Jack had never come back like he promised her he would. She was upset, but not angry; no, definitely not angry. He had tried to come home early, but it must've been impossible for him since he missed a whole week of work to comfort her after Cal. Sighing, Rose rolled over on her back and moved her body up against the pillow.

Her throat was burning, her leg a painful annoyance on her body. A cold sweat had formed on her forehead, and her brain was throbbing. Her breath came out ragged and irregular, her heart missed a beat every once and a while. Her hands shook as she pulled the engagement ring off her finger, a cry escaping her lips as the pain boiled up in her dying body. It would start with her leg, yes... Then it would numb and infest and she'll be gone.

She set her beautiful, simple sapphire ring on the table, on top of Jack's letter. Getting up from the bed, no matter how much her injury hurt, she balanced herself by putting her hand on the wall. Taking a step forward, she gasped.

Before Rose knew it, her stitches had torn and she collapsed on the floor. Her leg was dead to her now. It was a swollen, disgusting, black lump that tore at the limb with hunger. She could see bone protruding near the top of the tie, and knew that the cancer did a very good job of eating her up.

Rising up again, she began to limb. She tried to prevent the blood from spilling on the floor and causing concern. On her way out, she grabbed the bandages from the cupboard and began to wrap. She wrapped until her thigh was three times thicker than usual, and that's when she opened the door and tottered out of the apartment.

...

Jack had gotten home near late sun down. The furious, burning ball in the sky was now sinking into the horizon, a small slit in the distance. The sky was getting dark; rain clouds swallowed up all light. _It's going to be a gloomy night,_ Jack thought. _Like a sign._

"Rose, I'm home!" he called from the kitchen. The apartment was silent. No noise at all, not even someone breathing, pierced the still air. "Rose?" He looked down at his feet and saw the drops of blood leading from the guestroom, sickening his stomach.

Quick as a whip, Jack was in the bedroom and repetitively swearing under his breath when he saw no one was there. He tore the room apart in his dilemma, not noticing the letter on the bedside table until tears were freshly pricking at his eyes. Grabbing it swiftly, he read it, word by word, with his heart, not his eyes. When he was done, he was soundlessly crying. A glint of light bounced off something, and he looked down. What he saw strangled his heart.

It was the engagement ring he gave to Rose. She left it behind. But why? Why would she do something so stupid and ridiculous? Why didn't she want to be by her family's side for her last moments?

Stuffing the ring in his pocket along with the letter, he ran out of the house and to the park.

...

Josephine was laughing, but tears still tarnished her cheeks. John and Galen were escorting her home for the night, since the clouds were getting dark and stormy. They weren't even out of the park when Jack appeared, panting and waving a piece of paper in the air.

"Josie," he huffed, as though words hurt him. "Oh, Josephine..."

She ran into his waiting arms and worriedly asked, "What's wrong, Papa? What is it?"

He pulled away, his eyes full of tears and his brow furrowed in anxiety. "Your mother," he explained. "She's disappeared."


	26. Distant Appearances

_**Chapter 25: Distant Appearances**_

Josephine burst into the apartment and studied it intently. It was the same way it had been when she first entered it, when her mother had fainted and Jack had brought her here. There, on the couch and those two chairs, she was told her mother's story. In that very spot she learned that she had a father who was, indeed, not dead, but alive.

Traveling the length of the room, her eyes caught sight of the blood splattered on the floor. Suddenly queasy, she saw that it led from the guestroom to the kitchen, and then stopped.

Josephine walked into the room she shared with her mother, heart thumping wildly. There is where her mother fell asleep the first night, tears on her cheeks and still in her bathrobe, and there's where Josephine slept next to her in a borrowed nightgown.

Here was her book, _Les Misérables_, on the dresser, with _Pride and Prejudice_ underneath. So long ago, it seemed. How much her life felt like that Victor Hugo novel right now!

_Now... _What ever happened to _then_? You remember things that were _then _and compare them to how they are _now_. And when you compare Josephine, you get a big change in not only her personality, but her looks. She was no longer dressed in rags, having to bathe in the local lake to clean her greasy, dirty-blonde curls with the touches of natural strawberry highlights. And she no longer had dirt rubbed on her arms and legs and neck. She now wore a crisp, clean dress that was simple, yet elegant. Her hair and body were clean and fresh. She had never felt lighter. Until, that is, Rose's well-kept secret was revealed...and Josephine had never felt so heavy.

Josephine Emma Dawson no longer found large, exquisite buildings something to gape at. Nor was she as emotional when it came to boys. After all, boys will be boys. She had changed in so many ways, and in some cases, for the better. Right now, though, she wished to turn back time and relive all her memories, _bon ou mauvais_, with her mother. She didn't care if it meant returning to a life of low luxury and dirty apartment rooms falling apart at the seams. If it only meant seeing her mother again!

_This isn't real,_ Josephine wanted to believe. Her head was pounding, the blood rushing in her ears. None of this is real. Rose would still be in her bed, reading a book, all wounds healed. She would've never been dirty, poor, insane, or ill... Her face would radiate a life which has known little of the cruel things the world offered... Jack and her mother would be married way back seventeen years ago, before she was born. She would even have siblings, she thought, a little boy and girl, Michael and April. They would live in a nice, decent-sized house in Santa Monica, where they would walk to the beach as a family and watch the sun set. Everything would be a happy ending... No broken hope, nor shattered dreams. Did they really deserve all this?

Josephine's hope had been broken since she knew how bad her situation was being the daughter to a penniless young woman. Then it had been carefully mended back together again when Jack took them under his wing and into his loving arms. Her hope was broken again when she knew her mother would die, and from a secret she had kept hidden, even from herself.

She had plans for her parents, such as their wedding. She had sketched the perfect dress and ordered it to be made in her mother's size those couple weeks ago. It sat, waiting to be worn, under piles of dusty boxes, yet clean by its plastic packaging. Would Rose ever wear that now, and wear it with pride and joy as she married the one she'd always loved? Her hair worn defiantly down, its locks curling around her shoulders, pearls adorn into it? The layers of her dress sweeping around her high-heeled slippers, holding the hand of her lover in one hand, and a white and red bouquet of roses in another? Would she ever experience that?

Josephine ran, sobbing, to the bed, where she took her mother's pillow in her arms and breathed in its scent, its comfort. Heartbroken, she was. And depressed. She will miss her mother terribly when she passes into the other world. But the question was: Would she ever say good-bye?

She moved the pillow away from her eyes and looked at the nightstand. Seeing the scrapbook, she lunged for it, ready to soak up the memories held within its pages. Opening it, something cold and hard fell on her lap, along with a piece of paper with flowing handwriting. Her hands trembled and a quizzical look appeared on her face. She picked it up and felt its smooth diamond texture between her fingers.

The Heart of the Ocean. She'd completely forgotten about it! Holding it to her own heart, she picked up the letter and began to read:

_November 6, 1929_

_My beautiful Josephine,_

_It pains me to know I will die and leave you alone in this world. Those were my thoughts months ago, but now I no longer have to worry. You have Jack, and you're like him in so many ways. Did I ever mention you have the same dazzling smile, sweet nose, and piercing eyes? These are a few things I love about him. You see, he's genuinely and truly your father, and I love him very much._

_There is still a lot you don't know, but will learn throughout time. I regret not giving you a proper education or childhood you dreamed about. We just couldn't afford it at that time. I hope you'll forgive me if I've caused you any pain or regret. Please understand I never wanted any of this to happen. _

_As for the diamond, it is known as the Heart of the Ocean. _Le Couer de la Mer_, my ex-fiancé called it. He gave it to me as a gift, and now it is yours. A fifty-six-carat, blue diamond cut from the French Crown, worn by King Louis XVI's wife, Marie Antoinette, and worth more than the Hope Diamond. This is your inheritance and dowry. Oh, how I wish I could be there for you when you get married! You may sell the diamond or keep it without worry, for the man after it is dead._

_You were born so tiny on that cool January day. You weighed around five pounds for being born on the same day as expected, the fifteenth of January, 1913. When I first held you in my arms, I wept, for you looked so much like Jack. I thought I lost him at that time, that he was gone forever. I'm so glad that was never true._

_Remember when you took your first steps, Josie? No, you probably don't, you were too young. Only nine months and standing up! I helped you, of course, but I was so proud of you! Your hair was so blonde, your eyes so blue with those tiny hints of green. I would've believed you were too young. I would've believed you were a princess if it weren't for those overgrown rags I dressed you in. And for that, I am sorry a thousand times over__._

_Your first word was "papa," you know. I had cried that day, too, because I thought your father was gone. You kept saying it over and over, which made me feel worse. But then you stopped, and began to say "mama," never saying your first word again for a long time, not until you were old enough to understand and ask. _

_I hope you know, Josephine, that everything I've done was for the best. I pray you will forgive me for all I've done. Please, and I will pass into the next world peacefully. And know that I love you just as much as I love Jack. Maybe even more, but you might doubt that. Oh, and one more thing..._

_Josephine Emma Dawson, you were named after our song _(Come Josephine In My Flying Machine)_ and my grandmother, Emma. You're the daughter of Rose Dawson, née DeWitt Bukater, and Jack Dawson. Your only living grandparent is Ruth, my mother. She never approved of Jack, but you may contact her in Philadelphia, PA. Her name is, again, Ruth DeWitt Bukater._

_After the sinking, I stayed with a kind family. Adeline and Alec Thayer were very kind to me, but I left regrettably after you were born. I'm sorry I don't know where they are; the diner closed down a few years ago._

_Now you know everything, sweetheart. That is, everything you may want to know. Remember, Jack has so much history that has been lost after a tragic fire when he was fifteen, while you can find most of mine with my mother. You should talk with him about it. Move to the Santa Monica Pier, I say, and live the dream! _

_Goodbye, my darling, and don't cry. We'll meet again some other time, in another world, and then we'll be together again. So wipe away those tears, darling Josie, for I won't be gone forever. And never look down on yourself for anything. You're too strong and beautiful to ever think that. _

_I'm so proud of you._

_Your loving mother,_

_Rose_

_P.S. Never let go, but still move forward!_

Of course Josephine Emma Dawson cried. She cried until her stomach hurt, and she still shed tears as she flipped through the album. _There's Mama when she was expecting me, and there's me when I was a tiny baby. Oh, and look, here's me after making a mess in a mud puddle! Look at that smile on my face, unaware of everything that will eventually happen..._

Josephine laughed to herself, visible tear tracks on her cheeks. She closed the scrapbook, laid down on the bed, and looked out the window, holding her mother's letter. "Silly Mama," she whispered happily. Her mother's memory will always be a good one from now on.

Tracing the water stains on the letter with her finger, which had been freshly spilled tears of Rose's, Josephine took the diamond necklace in her hand and knew exactly what to do with it. She tucked it in her pocket for now.

Rose Dawson may be dead in the streets right at this time, Josephine thought, but she didn't die in vain.

...

Meanwhile, Rose was prowling the streets of New York, heart thumping furiously in her chest. Her good leg began to wobble, and she knew her time was coming. But she would not let herself fall until she was a good distance from the City, a place where she could die in peace without the faces of her loved ones hovering over her, scared, anxious, and sad. She just couldn't watch them suffer as she convulsed, took her last breath, and never moved again.

A lover's broken hope, a rich girl's shattered dreams. Rose's hope was torn to pieces the moment Jack supposedly died. She never wanted to love again, or feel the emotion of it, or even see it. She wanted to isolate herself from the rest of the world and cry, cry until she could no longer. She had wanted her tears to bring Jack back; she moaned about him in her sleep for days. She never thought her spirit, which was so lively and full of life, could've been crushed like a bug in just a few hours. She had been broken.

So many promises she made to Jack, and him to her. How much she wanted to live those dreams. But then life had thrown her off the train, and she had been abandoned and alone with a child. Without the income or heart, Rose had never accomplished what she'd wanted. Truth was, she only wanted to do those things with Jack, and Jack only.

It began to rain. Rose knew she needed a breather and sat down on the sidewalk, curling up into a tight ball to prevent her shivering, for it was a cool November day. Closing her eyes, she remembered. She dreamed, and remembered, and dreamed some more. Of Jack's warm touch and Josephine's soft hair in her hand. Of the smooth Santa Monica sand between her toes, and the salty water tickling her legs. Of the burning feeling of cheap beer running down her throat, and watching the sun set each and every day.

Even if it had to be in the afterlife.

...

Jack was running all around New York City, yelling Rose's name over and over, each syllable more desperate than the last. He asked every person on the street if they had seen a sick young woman with fiery red hair and a large bandage around her leg. They gave him looks that said he was crazy; and those who didn't react strangely said that they hadn't seen someone fitting that description.

There was no luck so far. He'd been running for at least an hour, and he was exhausted, worried, and scared. _What_ was _she thinking?_

Out of breath, he sat down on a bench and sobbed into his hands. His heart was painfully aching for his Rose, his withering Rose who was out there somewhere, alone and in the rain, frightened and ignorant. He had abandoned her in a time of need. Who knew what was going through that woman's head, mentally insane and all.

Through the drizzle of rain, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out Rose's letter. Protecting it from the raindrops with his hand, he read it for the tenth time that day:

_November 6, 1929_

_My dearest Jack,_

_My, where do I begin? Should we start from that first time I saw you, looking up at me from those lower decks, or from the time we first looked straight into each other's eyes? Yours were so blue, so passionate and full of concern. I've never forgotten them, Jack, and I never will, even when death do us part. _

_You must be wondering why I left the engagement ring behind. I honestly don't know why myself. I guess it's so you won't forget me, though I know you won't. But you know me right now... I can't understand anything I do. Speaking of my actions, you must also be wondering why in the world I ran away like this! It's stupid, really. I couldn't stand to see you watch me suffer, that's all. _

_Simple. _

_Remember when we first met, Jack? I was just as insane as I am today. I thought that jumping off the back of a ship was my solution, Thanks to you, though, you've made me see the world. Well, differently, that is. Then we talked the rest of the next day together, and you came to dinner and wowed the crowd. We went to that party in third class, and we danced together. Though you probably knew it was impossible for me to love you, you still so daringly __took me in your arms __like that! _

_Truth was, it was exhilarating. I felt the sparks, the connection me and you had. So when I was forced to forget you and be the proper girl I was not, it all became a mess. But by then, I knew. I knew that I had fallen head over heels in love with you, and I couldn't let you slip through my fingers like that to marry someone I would never love. _

_And you taught me to fly! To spread my wings and head off into the horizon! I love you for that. Not just your dashing looks, but your personality is what really flew into my heart and stayed there. I was released from my cage._

_When I jumped out of the lifeboat, I did it for a reason. I couldn't leave you. Not after all we'd been through. You jump, I jump, remember? I couldn't go! I loved you too much to leave, and I didn't trust Cal, not one bit! I couldn't hope for you to survive, I had to _be_ there to know! _

_Remember when I first told you I loved you? I thought we were going to die, and I wanted you to know. You never said it to me, though it wasn't necessary. I knew you loved me. Some things can be said without words, so was my theory through my broken heart. I thought you died. But you lived on with me, through Josephine, our lovely daughter. Take good care of her, Jack. She's still learning._

_I hope you know how much I love you; I can barely put it into words! I've never wanted to love someone else. I never let go._

_Remember when I told you that when the ship docked, I would be getting off with you? And how you said that this was all crazy, and I said, "I know, it doesn't make any sense. That's why I trust it"? I meant those words, Jack. And I still want to get off the ship with you, but in a different way: Don't think of this as "goodbye." Think of this as "until the ships docks."_

_I'll be waiting for you,_

_Your Rose_

_P.S. Take Josephine to Santa Monica for me. She'll love it there._

A teardrop fell on to the paper, staining the word _love_. When Jack received the letter, it was already a little smudged from Rose's own tears. _She had cried while writing this, _Jack thought, _this letter for me. _

He had to find her before it was too late.

Getting up quickly, he dashed through the pouring rain, determined to locate his Rose before she departed for the next ship to the other world. He won't rest until he held her in his arms, to make sure she would pass peacefully, even though his hope was broken and his dreams shattered.

He was torn at the seams.


	27. Rose's Death

_**Chapter 26: Rose's Death**_

Meanwhile, Rose was hobbling down the abandoned New York streets. Despite her lungs burning and rain falling harshly from the dark sky, she continued to walk. If you saw her from a distance, she would look like a poor, old woman with wobbly knees.

The rain continued to pour, and Rose found herself in tears. She had left for one reason: for the two people she loved the most not to see her suffer. Yet, she could be causing them concern and worry right now for not being in bed like she was supposed to! Her legs no longer able to support her, she collapsed in a puddle on the cold, hard concrete. _What have I done this time? _she pathetically asked herself. _Why? Do I not have a brain anymore to think?_

Rose curled up, crying violently, coughing up fresh blood that would lead to her death, and she slowly awaited her time to pass.

...

Jack frantically searched the streets again, not caring that he was getting soaked. He had checked the park and anywhere else Rose might be. Realizing she could've collapsed on the sidewalks, his mind was so full of worry he didn't even notice the heavy raindrops pattering on his head.

That's when he saw something- or some_one_- lying on the wet pavement. Terror gripping his throat, Jack ran up to the slumped figure and held in his gasp.

It was Rose, soaked to the bone, her breathing so loud and irregular it made Jack shiver. He could practically hear the gurgle of blood in her throat; it took all of his strength not to cry when her body twitched graphically.

Jack knelt down and gently moved her wet curls out of her face. Her chest jerked, and he realized she had been sleeping. "Jack?" she croaked, but it was so silent he almost didn't catch it.

Smiling, he whispered, "Yes, I'm here."

Rose opened her eyes, which were full of pain. "Hold me." Jack did as he was told and ever so tenderly picked her up, holding her close to him.

She grinned weakly. "I thought I'd never see you again." She lifted a shaky hand and stroked his cheek. He put his own hand over hers and felt how clammy it was. He squeezed it to reassure her that everything would be all right.

It was raining, but the two didn't notice. It was only them in the world, nothing and nobody else. Jack knew she was dying at that moment, that she wouldn't live to see another day. Holding back his tears, he held her closer, not noticing her wince when his hand went over her damaged leg.

"Jack..." she whispered, and that was all it took for them to know that love was a gift given to them both. And so was life, until Rose's was taken away.

A few minutes passed on without any words spoken. Eventually, Rose had to pull away a little bit as the pain made her cringe and convulse. Jack put his arms protectively around her again, but she just pulled away again and said, "It's all right, Jack, I don't feel anything. I won't for a while, now, won't I?" She laughed softly. "I wonder what it's like in the other world."

Jack couldn't respond. He felt like his tongue was swollen. He wanted to cry, but didn't want to upset or frighten Rose any further. Instead, he nodded his head, looking at his love with heartbreak. Rose's face turned to one of a torn heart, too, and she tucked a lock of Jack's hair behind his ear and said, "Don't worry about me, Jack. It will all be over soon." And she began to sob, recounting the last time she heard those words so long ago. "It will all be over soon," she cried into his already wet shirt, clinging to him.

Jack put a hand on her back and calmed her as best he could. "You'll be fine, Rose. You won't feel anything anymore, okay? No pain, no grief, no sorrow..."

Rose bit her lip. "But if I don't feel anything anymore, doesn't that mean I'll no longer love?"

Jack shook his head, a small smile on his face that said, "No, that isn't true." Sniffling, she moved closer to him, shivering from the cold rain.

"You know I love you, Jack," she whispered in his ear, moisture collecting in her eyes again. "I really hope you know that."

Jack nodded his head, and put his chin on Rose's head. "Of course I do, Rose. Don't doubt it for a second."

"Say it," Rose pleaded.

"Say what?"

"That you love me, too."

Jack put his mouth to her ear and whispered, "I love you more than anything, Rose. Ever since I first laid eyes on you." And he kissed her, ever so gently.

"Oh!" Rose gasped, and she writhed in pain. Jack let her go, and she saw her put her hand to her hip, where blood was slowly pumping out, more after each unnatural thump. "It hurts, it does." And she recoiled further from him.

Jack took her arm, now serious yet afraid. "Don't you do that, Rose. Don't try to run away from your problems. Let me be here for you, okay?" She fell into his arms without a word, and they watched as the sky began to clear a bit. The pouring rain became a drizzle, and Jack could see the water work its magic, washing away Rose's pain.

He nuzzled his face into her hair, breathing in her scent. He'll never forget that natural sweet smell she had. He'll never forget Rose DeWitt Bukater, even if it meant his life.

"Remember how you promised me we'll go to the Santa Monica Pier?" Rose reminisced.

Jack's face fell a bit at the memory, and how it never was accomplished. "Yes."

"And how we'll ride horses on the beach, right into the surf?"

"Now, none of that sidesaddle stuff, you've gotta do it like a real cowboy." Jack smiled, showing his bright teeth.

Rose laughed. "You mean one leg on each side?" Jack nodded, looking over her, loving her enthusiastic smile. "You promised you would show me."

"I know, sweetheart, I know..." There was remorse written all over his words.

"Now don't _you_ dare do that, Jack Dawson. Don't go regretting all this later. Just listen to me." He nodded slowly, and Rose tried to smile while moving her face in front of his. "All right?"

There was a moment of much-needed silence before Rose continued. She snuggled up in his arms, tightening herself up into a ball to relax the pain. "You said we'd ride roller coasters until we threw up and drink cheap beer. You would've taught me how to chew tobacco like a man, and finish your lesson on spitting like a man."

Jack encircled his arms and brought her more closely against his body. He could feel her burning up, and though she soldiered on, it won't be long now. "And we promised each other those seventeen years ago that we'll get off the ship together..."

"We would've moved to California or Wisconsin, perhaps, to Chippewa Falls, where you grew up. We would have raised a family together, and watched our children grow, and our grandchildren ahead of us, and possibly even our great-grandchildren. We would've both died holding each other's hand, in a warm bed, but not that cold night in the North Atlantic. No, we would've died old and together in peace, knowing that love _can _conquer all in the end..." Rose sighed and the corner of her lips turned up a bit. "I was thinking that night, when we made our promises to be together, that this love won't be perfect, but that's why I trusted it."

Jack's voice cracked as he said, "I trusted it, too."

Rose began to cry again. Her small, pathetic sobs were only for a few minutes, and then she relaxed and crawled into Jack's awaiting arms for the last time. "Promise me one more thing, Jack."

"Whatever you want, Rose." Jack kissed the top of her head repeatedly. "Whatever you wish for, I'll make it come true."

She was bursting out into a cold sweat, a numbing sensation spreading throughout her body. She barely noticed her tense knuckles gripping Jack's shirt. "Promise me you'll take Josephine to Santa Monica. Tell her I love her for me, and I always did what I thought was best for her."

Jack nodded, looking her straight in the eyes, their shimmering, green irises fading. "I promise you that, Rose."

She held on tighter to him, the pain overwhelming, yet calming. "I love you..."

"As do I..."

She shoved her hand in her pocket and pulled out a wet envelope, the address already smeared. "I don't know where he is," she said weakly, "but can you promise me to take this to Alec Thayer if you ever find him?"

Jack took the letter and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, not bothering to ask any questions on her relationship with this man. But he knew that if he ever saw him, he'd have his thanks.

Silence. Rose's breathing became less and less, and she closed her eyes. There was nothing left to say, that is, until her eyes shot back open. "And promise me just another small favor..."

"Yes?"

"Stay with me until it's all over."

Jack held on even tighter, his grief overpowering him. "I promise you everything I can do, Rose. I'll stay with you forever, if you want."

Silent tears ran down Rose's eyes. "And make each and every day count," she uttered as her eyes fluttered shut. But it wasn't over yet. No, the pain still seared all over now. She started to cough so profusely, Jack had to help her sit up so she wouldn't choke in her own blood.

Everything calmed and soon the pain turned into numbness. She began to squirm in Jack's tense grip as guilt still swarmed her. "Tell Josie I love her, Jack, that I love her so much." Her voice was strained. "And I love you, Jack..." Tears made her eyes shut tight and she sobbed, "Oh God, I love you!"

Jack shushed her, and began to cradle her in his arms, not caring that her blood soaked his shirt. "Shh, Rose... I know, I know..." Putting his lips to her ear, he began to sing. "Come, Josephine, in my flying machine... Going up she goes, up she goes..."

The sun began to rise in the distance, a small sliver of light so thin, it didn't make much of a difference. But as it began to rise higher and higher, Rose began to relax. A tear slipped down her cheek, just when her breath became cold.

Meanwhile, Jack watched as his Rose, his beautiful Rose, took her last breath and moved no more.

"Going up, all on, and goodbye..."

The rain had stopped, and the sun shone in the sky, a mixture of oranges and reds. Biting his lip, he shook her so slightly, but it didn't make a difference. He rubbed his hands across her arms to warm her up, but she would always be cold anyway. She didn't even flinch, and her eyelids were so still over her beautiful blue-green eyes. Her cheeks were tear-stained, and she was soaking wet from raindrops and blood, but Jack didn't notice. He no longer noticed anything around him besides his sleeping angel's face.

One of Jack's tears fell on her face and mingled with her own. But this wasn't a fairytale. His teardrops didn't magically bring her back to life like he wanted. Loosening his grip on her, he positioned her body in front of him to make it look like she was just sleeping, not dead. He put her arms at her waist, her hands holding each other, and spread her curly locks around her face.

Moving a strand away from her forehead, reality struck him, and he began to cry in agony. He wanted to throw himself over her like Hamlet did with Ophelia, and never let her go, just like they promised. _Nothing would bring her back,_ he thought. _Nothing._

Once he calmed down, he found a telephone booth and called the hospital, telling them that a woman was found dead on the streets and that they should contact her daughter at his apartment immediately. Tell her that I'm on this street, he said. Don't direct her to the hospital. And please come soon, so she won't have to see her mother's dead body on the sidewalk. Hanging up, he knelt down next to her again, and prayed.

Taking her head in his hands, Jack said, "I promise, Rose. I promise, like you promised me." He kissed her forehead, cold and clammy, and held her closely, as the first few snowflakes of the season fell from the sky.


	28. To a New Life

_**Chapter 27: To a New Life**_

"Where is she?" Josephine sobbed, running towards Jack. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and was staring at the rising sun. "Oh my God, where is she?"

Reaching Jack, she saw his eyes were clouded over from shock and hurt. Frantically looking in all directions, her eyes fell on the stained concrete. Her hand flew to her mouth, and tears blurred her vision. "Oh, God..."

She flung her arms around Jack and accepted his warm embrace. They stayed like that, mourning, for some time. She sobbed and grieved for minutes on end. She didn't quiet down for an hour, and when she did, Jack took her shoulders and made her look him in the eyes.

"Look at me," he said, moving her chin up with his finger. "We'll get through this, all right?" Josephine nodded, and he patted her on the back sympathetically. "Okay, now how about we go home and relax a bit, just you and me and the sketchpads, eh?"

Josephine laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes, and said, "Sounds good. I really need something to distract me right now." She took his hand, and they began to walk home.

...

_They laughed as they fell into each other's arms, their thoughts on what had just happened. _

"_Did you see the look on those guys' faces?" he giggled hysterically, breathing so hard he could barely get the words out. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "Did you see the look on those –"_

_She put her finger to his lips to quiet him, and stared into his eyes as they glimmered with love for her. "When the ship docks," she said, a smile appearing on her glowing face, "I'm getting off with you."_

_The corner of his lips turned up into an irresistible grin, shock and disbelief in his features. Yet, he knew she was telling him the truth. "This is crazy...__,__" he whispered._

_"I know!" she said, laughter bubbling up in her throat. "It doesn't make any sense. That's why I trust it."_

_They stared into each other's eyes for just a little longer, then shared a passionate kiss that both would last for eternity__._

_Their fates were played out from that moment on__._

...

Josephine's dreams were made up that one day, holding Jack's hand and walking into the rising sun, as they set out for the horizon. Meanwhile, a soft, faraway voice began to sing:

_Come, Josephine, in my flying machine,_

_And it's up she goes, up she goes,_

_Balance yourself like a bird on a beam,_

_In the air she goes, there she goes..._

_Up, up a little bit higher,_

_Oh, my! The moon is on fire..._

_Come, Josephine, in my flying machine,_

_Going up, all on, goodbye!_

_~FINIS~_


	29. Acknowledgements

**Acknowledgements**

A year into the making, and I'm putting this story to an official close. I hope that you enjoyed it, though the theme was dark and tragic. In its legacy, _Broken Reflections _(once named _Broken Hope, Shattered Dreams_) reached a total of 5,974 views, tallied on July 28, 2012. It's been featured in one community, called "The BEST _Titanic_ Fanfiction Stories of 2011," with twenty favorites and ten alerts.

Besides the _Titanic _(1997) plot and script, and the books and movies I've read and seen on cancer patients, I used two living sources (not the Internet!) for information. One person is a good friend of mine, who had a pet Dalmatian that developed cancer in the leg. She said that the tumor grew to the point that it broke skin and they had to constantly sew it close, but eventually the dog was put to sleep and ended its suffering. I later asked a medical doctor if it was possible for a human, if not treated, to have the same effect with a tumor. Thus, _Broken Reflections _was born.

Originally I wanted Rose's character to reflect Victor Hugo's character Fantine from _Les Misérables_, which was unsurprisingly mentioned in the story, and I think it worked out pretty well. Fantine's story began as a young woman in love, but her boyfriend ditched her one day, leaving her pregnant with his child. After getting fired from her job, she sold her hair, her teeth, and eventually her body in prostitution to pay for her daughter. And as for Jack, he was like Jean Valjean in a way, helping Rose and eventually taking custody of her daughter after she had passed. Valjean's character realizes Fantine's dilemma and takes her to a hospital because she was suffering from tuberculosis. Later on, she dies and leaves him with her daughter.

In fact, "Rose's Theme," as I call it, is a song from the Broadway version of _Les Mis. _The lyrics are as shown:

"_**I Dreamed a Dream" (from **_**Les Misérables)**

_There was a time when men were kind_

_When their voices were soft_

_And their words inviting_

_There was a time when love was blind_

_And the world was a song_

_And the song was exciting_

_There was a time_

_Then it all went wrong_

_I dreamed a dream in time gone by_

_When hope was high, and life worth living_

_I dreamed that love would never die_

_I dreamed that God would be forgiving_

_Then I was young and unafraid_

_And dreams were made and used and wasted_

_There was no ransom to be paid_

_No song unsung, no wine untasted_

_But the tigers come at night_

_With their voices soft as thunder_

_As they tear your hope apart_

_As they turn your dream to shame_

_He slept a summer by my side_

_He filled my days with endless wonder_

_He took my childhood in his stride_

_But he was gone when autumn came_

_And still I dream he'll come to me_

_That we will live the years together_

_But there are dreams that cannot be_

_And there are storms we cannot weather_

_I had a dream my life would be_

_So different from this hell I'm living_

_So different now from what it seemed_

_Now life has killed the dream I dreamed_

Lastly, I would like to thank the follow people for favoriting this story:

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And anyone who has put this story on story alert. Your support is appreciated.

For now, I'll be working on finishing my other _Titanic_ stories. Hopefully I'll be able to get more in soon.

Thanks for reading!

~Lady Elena Dawson


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